


There is a new world waiting for us to conquer it

by mrs_badcrumble



Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_badcrumble/pseuds/mrs_badcrumble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superman is dead.<br/>This is a fact. Another fact is: The world has changed.<br/>Irrevocably.<br/>The air is thinner, the gravity is greater. Earth is no longer Earth, but neither is it Krypton. The ritual that would have changed it had been interrupted at a crucial moment and now it occupies a liminal space between both. It is no longer a home to us and neither would it have been a home to the aliens, were any of them still alive.</p><p>Lois Lane sets out to avenge the death of Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lois

Superman is dead.  
This is a fact. Another fact is: The world has changed.  
Irrevocably.  
The air is thinner, the gravity is greater. Earth is no longer Earth, but neither is it Krypton. The ritual that would have changed it had been interrupted at a crucial moment and now it occupies a liminal space between both. It is no longer a home to us and neither would it have been a home to the aliens, were any of them still alive.  
They are all dead. After he destroyed the world machine, Superman fell down into the Indian Ocean and drowned. Balances have a way of righting themselves and Earth strove to keep the balance right until she was destroyed, replaced, erased forever.  
The air is just about thick enough to survive at sea level. Rising above three thousand feet means entering a death zone, and people die without oxygen. Walking at anything faster than a sedate pace becomes exhausting after a few minutes, running is out of the question except for former Olympic champions, members of elite forces and those adapted to high altitude. Falls incur broken bones, more often than not. Were things not as they are, orthopedic surgeons would be gleefully rubbing their hands, since arthritis has become a disease of early middle-age. So has heart failure. And varicose veins.  
Tibetans, Andeans and Ethiopians seem to thrive, however. Those that made it to sea level in time, anyway.  
Life has moved downwards from the mountains, and much of it has died. Biologists are still at work, but the number of remaining plant and animal species is five to ten percent of what it used to be. What that means for the long-term future of our biosphere, no one knows.  
Strangely enough, the world is not a Mad Max-style post-apocalyptic wasteland. The Army and the remaining police forces have not had much work keeping the peace. People have become passive, living from day to day. The weak and the ill have died, though the nurses and the doctors did their best. There is still crime, but it is fitful and sporadic.  
Most people have lost their drive.  
Not me.  
Zod's infernal lot are all accounted for, except for him. I will find him, one way or another. If having been a reporter ever gave me any useful skills, it is sniffing people out. If the bastard is still alive, I will shoot him once in the back, for breaking us, once in the chest, for having had the heart for breaking us, and once in the head, for ever having thought about breaking us. There are perks to having had a general for a father. One of them was spending a lot of time on the firing range to impress Daddy.  
He will pay for what he has done to us.

 

FACTS: (AND TO DO LIST)  
1\. There is no bloodthirsty homicidal maniac flying around trying to kill us all.  
2\. Right before he died, Superman could no longer fly or hold his breath underwater. 1. and 2. taken together probably mean that Zod is no longer (as?) superpowered and (as?) invulnerable. Better make sure of that before I pull a gun on him, though.  
3\. Zod was bred in even less hospitable conditions. He may have remaining powers that will make it difficult for me to kill him. Plan? (will formulate one when I find him)  
4\. He is not, however, invulnerable. (This is not an actual fact, merely conjecture) Gun-shot wound should be fatal. Plan B? ~~Three gunshot wounds and a stake through the heart.~~ Three gunshot wounds and a grenade if he still keeps moving.  
4a. He may still have his own cache of weapons. In which case I'm fucked anyway. Assume he doesn't and hope for the best.  
4b. Guns unreliable now at high altitudes, lack of oxygen? If yes, make sure I buy one that will work at all times. (Ask Swanwick.)  
5\. He is a well-trained and intelligent soldier. Alerting the authorities might make him a) suspicious or b) kill innocent civilians, but above all c) disappear before I can find him.  
6\. A merciless estimate gives me another five years of relatively good health before I become too sick to kill anyone, let alone an alien supersoldier bent on exterminating us. Better move fast.  
7\. A more optimistic one gives me eight to ten years, in which the end result must be the same:  
Find Zod.  
Make him suffer. (Optional, see 3., 4a. and 5 above.)  
Kill him.  
Put a bullet in my head to end the agony.

P.S.  
8\. The reason for 1. may be that he is hatching a nefarious plan to kill us all that does not involve flying around. In which case, we're fucked anyway. Assume he doesn't and hope for the best.  
8a. Whatever his plans may have been, they involved something called the Codex. Since the only person who could have known its location is dead, it can be safe to assume that it has been lost forever.  
9\. His last known location was above Metropolis in an alien ship, crashing to the ground. It has been fifteen months. Since air travel has become prohibitively expensive, he must have travelled either on foot or by train. He could be anywhere.  
10\. I am one of two people who could recognize him and he knows it. The other is a sad woman, broken by the loss of her only son. Those who have seen him in Metropolis are no longer alive to tell the tale, and the people of Smallville had more important things on their minds than trying to look at someone fighting Superman. He may have grown careless because of that, but it will still pay to be cautious.  
11\. Very few cars, because everyone is afraid they will eat away at what little oxygen we have left. Trains have schedules and are often unreliable. Find a way to work around that. ~~Electric cars?~~ Too expensive.  
12\. I need a story believable and sad enough so that people will be willing to help me and unlikely to suspect me. Something to tug on the heartstrings. I'm glad stories are kind of my thing.  
13\. I also need a new identity. Swanwick. Get him to cover for me if necessary.  
14\. Small town are unlikely to welcome armed people. Stash the weapons somewhere outside of town. Find a secure location that is easy to find. But not too easy.  
15\. Re: 14. Small towns are wary to any newcomer. Must practice fitting in before I actually get there.  
16\. I can be caught off guard if someone uses my real name. Must practice reacting to my fake name before I get there. I am no longer Lois Lane. I am Andrea Darzi.

WHAT I SHOULD BE LOOKING FOR:  
1\. Someone who is not doing as badly as we are. He is faster, stronger, less hampered by the thin air and high gravity. Someone who seems to have thrived under the new conditions.  
2\. Someone who is keeping a low profile, who does not welcome questions about their past. (Revise criterion. Most people won't welcome questions about what they've lost.)  
3\. If he has integrated into society, he will most likely have taken a profession similar to his old one. So: soldier, policeman, security guard, mercenary…  
4\. If not, he may be hiding anywhere. ~~What the fuck was I thinking? I will never find him.~~  
5\. If 3., would he risk drawing attention to himself by living above the ground floor? It would provide some protection from puny humans who can't ascend a flight of stairs without resting every few steps. Must see how often that happens in real life.

 

Leaving Metropolis was harder than I thought it would be. Everyone I knew was dead and I still left a bleeding piece of my heart amongst the ruins (Perry and Steve and Jenny and Jimmy, oh God, crushed to death among the steel and concrete) of what was once the greatest city in the world.  
There were no funerals. The bodies on the ground or on the first or second floors were dug out slowly and burned in a pyre where the Park once had been. No unnecessary exertions. Everything on the third floor and above was left to rot.  
I spoke to Swanwick once, when he came to inform me about my father's death. I grilled him about the possible whereabouts of Zod, but he seemed convinced that he was dead. And even if he weren't, Swanwick said, the armed forces were far too busy keeping the peace and helping with relief efforts. That was in the early days, before the world went to shit in the most subdued way possible.  
So I packed my things, carefully keeping their weight under thirty pounds. I bought a gun and several magazines (I needn't have worried. The Second Amendment won't be forgotten in a hurry and firearms can still be bought everywhere in the country.). I wrangled a few grenades from Swanwick, though he made me swear on my father's grave I wouldn't use them unless it was necessary.  
(I cut and dyed my hair, but I needn’t have bothered. Fifteen months of not enough sleep, not enough food and not enough oxygen had done their job beautifully. Even my own mother wouldn't have recognized me.)  
And I set out west.

 

There was not much to see on the way. Humanity had its heart broken. Infants die, often before their parents have had the chance to give them a name. People who are ill linger for a while and then die as well. Those fortunate few who live near a working hospital have slightly better chances.  
Walking through a graveyard is dispiriting, over three quarters of the gravestones are for people younger than me.  
People still work, but they do it for survival and they do it at a maximum of one thousand feet above sea level. Food is scarce, but that is not in and of itself problematic. So many have died that we will probably run out of oxygen before we run out of food. Someone keeps power plants running, someone makes the trains run on schedule, someone helps the sick and needy. Bridges are kept from collapsing and roads are kept in good working order. We can use phones, send letters. There is still an Internet, though I'm not sure we ought to be grateful for that. It is full of pictures of Old Earth. Things work, but the spark is gone.  
There has not been a scramble to improve living conditions, to reverse the changes done to our home. People go to work, go home and they sit in their chairs and stare at the wall until it becomes dark. No one has a plan.  
(Ask Swanwick if that has changed. But do not hold out to much hope. Or any at all.)  
Sometimes I allow myself to be hopeful. That mourning a world takes much longer than mourning a person and that soon we will burst into life and shape this world the way it used to be.  
Then I brutally squash any happy thoughts because happy thoughts also include-  
He will pay dearly.  
I will make him pay.

 

I visit Martha, on my way. She holds me tighter than I ever remember being held and whispers: »I am so happy to see that you're safe.« We hold each other for a long time.  
She cooks dinner as she speaks about nothing in particular. I let her words wash over me.  
Afterwards, we sit on the porch. We say nothing until the sun has set. Then Martha says: »He saved us. My son may be dead, but at least he died for something worthwhile.«  
Fury rises up in my throat as bile. Worthwhile she calls it, eking out a meagre existence on a world borderline hostile to us? He should not have died. He should not have needed to die at all. In the span of a few generations, we will be gone and all that will be left of us will be crumbling buildings and fading words. But before we are gone, I will make sure that those who have done this to us will pay for their sins in their own blood.  
I stop yelling, panting from the exertion, slumped against the railing. Martha is still sitting on her chair, tears running down her cheeks. I wipe at my own eyes, angry with myself, for I have not cried since I was a child.  
Martha stands with some effort, and makes her way to kneel at my side. She runs her hand through my hair and says: »He said you had a spark in you. I'm glad you haven't lost it.«  
I start crying, messily sobbing as she gathers me up in her arms and gently rocks me from side to side. Afterwards, she tucks me into his bed and kisses me on the forehead. She says »Things that may seem obvious at a distance lose their sharpness when viewed up close. Be wary of doing anything you might regret.« I furrow my brow in incomprehension. She smiles sadly. »Never mind me. I am an old, sad widow who has lost her only son. But I don't want to lose you as well. Promise me you'll keep writing to me. I look forward to each and every one of your letters.«  
I nod. She touches my cheek and leaves.  
I toss and turn in the bed that still smells of-  
I leave before sunrise.  
I ignore the food Martha prepared for me along with the piece of paper that says _It won't bring him back._

 

I am nine months into my search when I break my right leg. It is a stupid thing to do, slipping on a step, and though I try to catch myself in time, it is not enough. I am taken to a hospital where doctors look at my x-rays and decide that an operation is not necessary. I am given a cast and strict instructions not to take it off for at least six weeks.  
As soon as I can walk without howling in pain, I remove the cast. My progress slows, but I am mindful of the time limit I labour under. I can't afford to move slowly. It is a foolish and dangerous thing to do, but it isn't like the injury will bother me in my old age.  
The slight limp is a small price to pay for my mobility.

I am fifteen months into my search when I am accosted by two thugs wearing oxygen masks. I am not sure what exactly they want (money? my virtue, such as it is? food?). I politely ask them to move out of my way. They move in closer instead, their bearing betraying their intentions. I shoot one in the knee and the other in the stomach. I call emergency services and move on. I shortly contemplate setting their heads on fire and cranking the oxygen up all the way, but I change my mind. One will be permanently crippled, the other most probably dead. It is enough.  
Thank you, Dad.

I am eighteen months into my search and pretty damn near close to calling the whole accursed thing off when I overhear something in a bar. Talk of a man who can't fly, who can't lift airplanes, but who can carry forty pounds up two flights of stairs without getting winded in the least, who protects little girls from bears, who lives to make people's lives just a little bit easier and safer.  
A new Superman for a new world.  
When I ask questions, though, people suddenly forget what they had been talking about five seconds before. They say that it's an urban legend, a story told by a desperate mother to her child to keep hope alive; they say it is wishful thinking.  
I persist. It pays off.  
I follow the direction in which their thumbs point. I keep asking questions. Every time the answers are less vague, less uncertain, more promising.  
And then someone points a thumb northwards, and says: »Well, most of what you've heard is exaggerated, but the man is in really good shape. He was Special forces before the war, but I dunno, his whole unit died or something-«  
Bingo.  
»-and now he lives up there, licking his wounds, metaphorically speaking. Why are you looking for him?«  
»I have a job for him that only he can do.« True, if by job I meant 'die horribly and messily at my hands'. Which I do.  
The man shrugs. »Well, it's none of my business, anyway. Good luck trying to get him to move, though. I hear he's gotten really attached to the place.«  
»Oh, he can do the job from anywhere. If he doesn't want to move, that's perfectly fine by me.«  
The man gives me a long look and I grow slightly uncomfortable. I do not to blink or flinch; Dad taught me better than that. After a while, the man shrugs again and points to the north. I thank him, but he's already walking away. He waves a negligent hand without turning around.

 

I only need to climb less than two hundred feet, but it is an arduous journey. I frequently pause to catch my breath and by the time I see the town, I need to lie down because I have pains in my chest and a murderous headache. I take the small oxygen canister from my pack and I use it for the first time since I left Metropolis. I lie there for at least an hour. I vomit several times, but after a while my symptoms improve.  
I stash the gun and the grenades in a hole I dig with great effort under an interesting rock. I take a picture of it on my phone and I make a Polaroid as always and stick it into my notebook.  
When I feel myself good enough to go on, I do. It turns out to be a mistake. I become very dizzy and I black out. My last thought before I brain myself on a convenient rock is: how lovely.

 

I wake up in a soft bed. The headache is still there, but it has abated. That isn't completely true. The headache that I had before I fainted is practically gone. The headache from my cracked skull is still very much present. I try to feel out the injury, but someone has dressed my wound. There is a cannula in my nose and someone hooked me up to an infusion.  
I try to sit up, but it is too soon. I barely fight down the wave of nausea.  
»Would you like something for the pain?« The voice is soft and low. I turn to see a lovely middle-aged woman. »My name is Séverin. I am a doctor. Would you like something for the pain?«  
»Yes. Yes, please.«  
She nods and leaves. She returns a minute later with a syringe. »This is morphine. I have added an antiemetic because otherwise, you'd be puking your guts out within minutes.« She administers it slowly and all the while she studies me. It is disconcerting. The man who gave me directions was an amateur compared to her. I feel like she is reading my thoughts off the back of my skull.  
»Not many people come here,« she says conversationally.  
I don't know how to answer, so I settle for »Oh?«  
»And no one ever came here without papers.« She gives me another searching look. I school my face to give away nothing.  
»Not everyone I met was as friendly as you. I was accosted by thugs« True. »I was forced to let them have several things of mine.« Two bullets. »I have had my leg broken.« Technically true, though that was a result of my own clumsiness.  
»What is your name?«  
»Andrea Darzi.«  
»And what do you want here, Andrea Darzi?«  
»I'm looking for someone.«  
»Are you now? In a backwater like this?«  
I pull a photo of Jenny from my back pocket with some effort and hand it to Séverin.  
(It had been a birthday party for someone and Jimmy had walked by just as I was telling Jenny about Steve and how she should never, ever go on a date with him. He had said »Smile, girls.« I put my arm around Jenny and-)  
I swallow my grief and look straight into her eyes. I have practiced this over and over again. »I come from Metropolis.« Séverin's eyes still seem to bore holes into my skull, though they soften just a fraction. »She is my half-sister and she is the only one in my family who could still be alive.« (I mentally beg Jenny's forgiveness for using her to manipulate good people who have helped me.) »She had been visiting her sick father when it all happened. People have told me that those fleeing from her hometown went in this direction.«  
Séverin relents and returns the photo.  
»We have had a few bad experiences in the past. Please forgive me if I have offended you in any way.«  
»Have you seen her? Or heard of her? Her name is Jenny.«  
Séverin shakes her head. »When you are better, the sheriff will have a word with you. Rest now. You must be tired.«

 

The talk with Sheriff Lupo is anticlimatic. I assume that after Séverin's assessment, everything else is a formality. I find his heartstrings and tug at them. Viciously. He is an old man, broken by the loss of his only child, and he promises to let me make inquiries about my »half-sister«. I am both proud and ashamed of myself. They seem to be good people. But I have no need for frivolous sentiment now.  
I give him Swanwick's contact if he should want to follow up. He won't, I can tell. But Séverin probably will.  
My rehabilitation is slower than I would prefer. It takes several days before I can stand without swaying like a feather in the breeze and another three before I can walk without assistance.  
Séverin is gentle but firm. She pushes me when I stall and pulls me back when I overexert myself. She has a nurse who mostly does house calls, she says, and besides, nowadays it pays to have a doctor look over people exerting themselves at such high altitudes.  
She gently pats my shoulder as she escorts me to my bed. »When he is in town, you should ask our priest for help. He covers a pretty large area and if your sister had at any time passed through here, he will find out.«  
And just as I begin to feel safe, Séverin says: »How come that in the only picture you have of your sister, you're not in it?«  
Because I've been lying to you all along. Becuse if Zod is alive and he sees me as I was, he might recognize me. »I was. I tore my half away and burned it. I couldn't stand looking at how happy I was.«  
It will pay to be wary of her.

 

I am finally discharged. Séverin offers me her couch, but I politely decline. I have no wish to be constantly under her guard. I rent a room (not many people come here, my ass) and I carefully create an illusion of a worried sister looking for the only remaining member of her family, because someone is sure to snoop.  
Jenny's photo stuck in the mirror frame? Check.  
My itinerary and carefully annotated map? Check.  
Relevant clippings? Check.  
A dog-eared copy of American Gods with the inscription: »Dear sis, worship them or they will devour you. Love, Jenny« in handwriting completely and utterly unlike mine? Check.  
Personal notes in my notebook? Check. (Photos of buried weapon caches marked as locations I will tell Jenny about)  
Real notes hidden in a file about good fiscal practice on my phone, password protected, password randomly generated each day according to an algorithm known only to myself? Check.  
Let them come. They will find nothing.

 

I get to know the town as I ask around about Jenny. People are sympathetic, and sorry they know nothing. Many of them promise to write their acquaintances in nearby towns. They seem like good people. I thank them earnestly and make small talk, though I learn nothing new.  
It is Sunday when Séverin knocks on my door. »You look like someone in need of guidance. Come to the service with me,« she says. »Father Drew's sermon is sure to revitalize you.«  
I have several things on the tip of my tongue to say about God and his ilk, chiefly featuring curses. But I swallow them, and smile. I will fit in. »I would like that,« I say and off we go.  
We say little on the way to the church. I ask Séverin about her hospital. »Practice,« she corrects. »Clinic, if you must. I don't get many overnight stays, present company excluded.« She asks me about Jenny. I speak slowly and haltingly, trying to remember if I have told anyone anything that may conflict with what I am about to say now. I make a mental note to write everything down until I know Jenny's story by heart.  
In church Séverin pulls me to what I assume is her usual seat and I meekly follow. She chats with people, shakes hands, coos at babies and pinches the cheeks of children. She appears to have a high standing in the community.  
There is a hush and people quickly sit down. I am still looking around as I hear someone say »I am happy so many of you have found the time to come here,« in a very familiar voice.  
I look up to the podium and nearly swallow my tongue. It is him.  
Zod is a priest and is conducting Sunday service before my very eyes.  
The bastard actually has the gall to preach about _morality_.  
I'm willing to bet someone up there is in stitches over all of this.


	2. Zod

It is over.  
It is over and I have accomplished nothing. My crew are dead, or worse, sucked into the Phantom Zone. The Genesis chamber has been smashed on the ground of this accursed planet. The Codex, or the knowledge of its location, is lost forever, buried under miles of saltwater on the other end of the world.  
A world which is neither here nor there.  
As I pull myself out of the wreckage, I notice that I am once again vulnerable. There is a deep gash in my side, which is not bleeding as much as I would expect it to be. I can't fly, but I can jump very, very high and lift many times my weight. My heat vision is gone, but I can still move much faster than on Krypton. So I still have powers, albeit weaker than they used to be. It is a poor consolation.  
And what the people of this world call hostile conditions are nothing compared to Krypton in its final days.  
I have found myself in paradise. The last son of Krypton.  
Someone must be laughing at my fate at this very moment.

 

There are two people who might recognize me: Kal's adoptive mother and the woman who was on my ship with him (friend? wife? sister-in arms? No matter.). The first will not stray far from her home and the other is unlikely to have survived the onslaught of the World Engine. Still, avoiding any unnecessary attention would be a wise thing to do. I must practice to appear exhausted after exerting myself.  
I must practice blending in. I have a grace period during which people will assume I have been traumatized by the catastrophe, but it will not last forever. I must invent a story to inspire sympathy and discourage questions. I am not a good storyteller. It will pay to be aware of that.  
I must acquire an identity and proof. The sooner I act, the more I can use the chaos to my advantage. ~~Perhaps pretending I have lost my memory as a result of a head injury may help?~~ Bad idea.  
I must learn to speak and write like a human.  
I must earn my keep. Choosing a profession whose practitioners are trusted implicitly will be difficult. I have no skills as a healer, save the rudimentary ones everyone acquires on the battlefield. Priests, however, seem to be in high demand nowadays. Moreover, almost anyone may become a priest if they renounce their former life, so I need not lie (much) about my past. For now, it is probably best I keep travelling until I am certain I can act out my part convincingly.  
The second goal will be difficult. I must prepare myself to be exposed and prepare weapons and an avenue for escape should things progress that far.

1\. I may open doors for women, but they must go through them first.  
1a. Women are required to wear what I suppose is a torture device on their upper chest. Though they assure me it is comfortable, I do not believe them for one second. It is less time-consuming than self-flagellation, that I will admit. And less bloody.  
2\. Old people are allowed to say what they please. (Much like Krypton, that.)  
3\. The elaborate system of honorifics is beyond my comprehension.  
3a. However, soldiers and lawkeepers are allowed to call women »ma'am« and men »sir«. How very useful.  
4\. They still use tangible currency.  
5\. Dead people are covered with a sheet until they are taken away for funeral rites.  
6\. They touch one another far more often. For support, comfort or out of a desire for closeness.  
Fitting in will be more problematic than I thought.

 

I find a beast among the ruins of the city, hunkering behind steel bars, injured and afraid. I keep walking, but its whines remind me of when Akasi wanted to sleep in my bed and would claw and whine before my door until I let her in.  
(Faora had once met Akasi. She had petted her and remarked: »The fur is very soft. I like her already.«)  
I relent and, after making sure no one can see me, pry the steel bars apart until the beast can escape.  
It walks with a limp and it shakes. It tries to lick my hand. I let it.

 

I dress its wounds as best as I can. An old woman offers me her services, claiming she used to work as a healer for such creatures.  
She gently runs her fingers through its fur as she cleans the wounds, murmuring to it as it whines in pain. The beast stirs, but it does not run. It looks at me and I pet it. It is satisfied with that. It tries to lick my hand. I let it. The old woman gives me wound dressings and water, »for the poor thing« and pats the beast gently on its flank. I thank her sincerely, but she waves it away. She smiles and says: »My son used to have one of these when he was a boy. They were inseparable. It was my pleasure to help you.«  
People are willing to help me when they see me carrying the beast. It makes the humans more malleable, less suspicious. I am far more likely to inspire sympathy when it is with me.  
I learn the beast is called a dog and its breed is German Shepherd, for what it is worth. Its breath is loud and its tongue is hanging out in warm weather, and it requires constant affection. I find giving affection not as difficult as I thought. The beast has grown fond of me and I find it useful. It keeps watch at night and it has a very good sense of smell. Its bark is loud enough to keep most monsters at bay.  
Its fur is not as soft, but it will do for now. It does not need a name.  
I watch and learn from the humans so I may be called one of them.  
I avoid thinking about what I actually plan to do. Thinking too much awakens the demons within that howl for revenge and destruction and accomplish nothing of importance.

 

Most of the time, I keep myself to myself and avoid humans. When we must reside in a city, I rent a room on the first floor and claim I value privacy highly.  
Once, we are attacked. They are no match for me. One of them goes sailing through my window and smashes against the ground below. The other goes down the stairs, screaming all the way. They give me no reason to use my weapons. My speed and strength are more than enough. The dog and I leave the next morning.  
On the whole, humans are kind to me, as if the tragedy gave them additional incentive for goodwill towards fellow creatures. One of the first things I buy is a Bible. If I am to be a priest of its religion, I must learn it by heart.

 

I set aside five days to grieve properly. For Krypton. For Faora and my crew. For Jor-El and Lara. And for Kal. We may have found ourselves on opposing sides, but he fought bravely and with skill.  
»I will honour the man you once were, not this monster you've become.« Jor-El's words burn me, even more so now that I know he was right.  
I destroyed a world, took it away from its rightful owners, and nothing good came out of it. We could have come peacefully and been given what we needed. Instead we ripped out the entrails of this world and used them to choke its people.  
My crew, following my orders. My blade, stabbing my friend. My ship, killing an entire world.  
On the fifth day, I grieve for my soul, for it has died without my knowledge.  
On the sixth day, I set out to build me a new one. A better one.

 

Physical labour has become difficult. Humans have trouble breathing the thin air and moving in the higher gravity. They often die. While civilization is kept running, there is no invention, no improvement, no cries to reverse the wretchedness the change has wrought upon their lives.  
Accidents are dispiritingly common. I try to help whenever I can, without drawing attention to myself. ( I have had the opportunity to perfect my appearance of exhaustion many times.) There are very few probing questions that cannot be diverted by a carefully crafted backstory, which need not be a lie at all.  
I was a soldier and I lost all of my crew in the disaster. I turned to God and chose to live for peace and my fellow man. I hope that by my penance I will earn forgiveness for the crimes I have committed. I am not on the run, but I wish to avoid the attention of my government, for they would surely want me to return to my duties and bear arms once more.  
I hope that the fragile gratitude of those I have helped will be enough to still their tongues.  
I manipulate a lowly official into giving me a new identity after I save his son from drowning. His son is a foolish boy who will certainly find his death before the year is over. I tell him that and the boy, suitably cowed, promises to behave in the future. The father is willing to do anything to relieve himself of the burden of debt. I take advantage of that. He furnishes me with a name, history, home and everything that comes with being a human. He practices with me until I am deemed unlikely to betray myself when speaking. I take no pride in my actions, but I have had much practice in convincing myself of their necessity.  
Often the dog and I receive food and drink without needing to pay afterwards. Sometimes we are given a roof over our heads. Sometimes not, for the people often do not have one to cover their own heads.  
On Krypton, whenever one wanted to pray, one had to go through a priest, otherwise the prayers would not reach their destination. The prayers were sometimes heavily edited into a more pleasing form and were often rendered unrecognizable. Here, everyone has a direct line of communication to their god. Priests serve as guides, shepherds, they offer advice and absolution. They have no dominion over the words that pass between believers and their gods. They pray with people, not for them.  
I find I vastly prefer human religion.

 

One day, we are marching through the woods when I hear a loud crack and an even louder scream. I run towards the pained, pitiful sounds and see a young man-boy with his leg buried beneath a large rock. He is bleeding profusely and his skin is already pale. I curse the foolish inclination of humans to have their appendages crushed under large rocks and make to remove it.  
The man waves an arm weakly and says,»Don't! You'll never move it in time. Go to the town and find some men who will help you.«  
If I do that, he will be dead when we arrive. He is already drowsy; his skin pale and clammy. I curse my newfound altruism and remove the rock. Any question will be dealt with by pointing out he was nearly dead and must surely have been imagining things. I fashion a makeshift bandage from my shirt as quickly as I can.  
I lift him into my arms and run. (I try not to think of his eyes, which he seems to have stolen from Tor-An. I run faster.)  
There are no questions asked, for the entire town is simply glad to have him back alive. The man is whisked into their healing room, while his mother and father and his lover take turns in thanking me. I clumsily brush away their thanks, but they insist upon hosting me for at least a few days.  
I accept. Declining may draw attention.  
My room is sparse, but functional. It is on the first floor. I wave away the family's apologies and assure them I prefer privacy over comfort.

 

The next morning, I am visited by a slight woman of middle age. She smiles as she introduces herself as Séverin, the town healer. She says, »I thought you might want to know how the man whose life you saved is doing. May I sit?« I point to the only chair in the room and sit on my bed. »He is much better now. He will most certainly retain the use of his leg.«  
I nod. »That is good news indeed. I am glad to hear it.«  
»He was brought in in a delirious state. Kept saying that you lifted a large rock off his leg with your bare hands, with almost no effort at all. Which is ridiculous, of course, since no one could lift such a large rock by themselves anymore.« Her eyes bore into me. For all her waifish features, it would not do to underestimate her.  
»How did you know it was a large rock?«  
»It must have been something big, because the poor man's leg is broken. I also had a look around yesterday, after Jarred, the man you saved, was out of danger. It wasn't hard to find, since it had a large bloodstain on it.«  
I am grudgingly impressed. Most people I have met have a brain, but she is the first one I have witnessed actually using it. I decide not to insult her intelligence and say nothing.  
»However, lifting the rock by yourself could have been possible if you had used a lever to pry the rock off his leg.« She gives me a significant look.  
I say slowly, »Which is exactly what I did.« She nods and motions for me to keep going. »I found a sturdy branch close by and used it to lift the rock and pull his leg out.«  
»And how did you manage to carry a grown man all the way to the town?«  
Ah.  
»Were you not a soldier?« she says.  
»Yes.« Soldier or no, no human can lift even half that weight anymore.  
»Say you were Special forces, that you underwent some procedures. They will believe anything, because they are grateful.«  
My skepticism must show on my face. She continues, »The aliens are all dead, or so we are told. People believe that because they want to. They also distrust the government.«  
The phrase strikes a nerve. I flinch, and Séverin raises her hands. »I am grateful for what you have done. You are a man of rare talents and this town could use you. As for you, we are away from any prying eyes the government sends out. Think about my offer, at least.«  
I nod.  
She speaks again. »There is another reason I have come to see you. A young couple have had their first child. It is a boy and he will most likely not survive the night. When they heard a priest was in town, they wished for you to baptize him.«  
I grow pale. I have never performed a baptism. I know water is somehow involved, but the rest is a mystery to me. Séverin places a gentle hand upon my arm. »Hey. Pour a few drops of water on the baby's head, say a few words I will teach you, and that's it. If you act confident enough, you could say pretty much anything. The parents are desperate and it would mean a great deal to them.«  
I follow her to their home.

 

The boy's skin is softer than anything I have ever touched. As I pour the water over his head, he opens his eyes and looks at me. His eyes are a deep blue (deeper than Kal's, but just as questioning, just as innocent) and his eyelids flutter with each struggling breath. I murmur the words Séverin had hurriedly whispered to me on the way here and place him back in his crib. They had chosen the name David for the boy. It means beloved.  
The parents thank me profusely for my time and effort. I can only nod. When they offer us refreshments, I open my mouth to decline just as Séverin covertly pinches my arm. She says, »We would like that, wouldn't we?« I can only say, »Yes.«  
The father sits with us at the table. The mother carefully pours tea into delicately painted cups. My impression of both of them is that they are balloons ready to burst at the slightest provocation. So I say: »I am told this is your first child.«  
And just like that, they burst. The father says, »Yes. We had tried for a long time before David came along. We had almost lost hope.«  
The mother smiles and says, »But then I got pregnant. I was so happy. And everything had gone so well, there were no complications at all. And then after birth, he started suffocating and they had to give him oxygen…« She breaks off and takes her husband's hand. They both disappear in a bubble of privately shared grief and only surface minutes later.  
I test out several sentences: »There will be other children.« (Too harsh, implies the boy is as good as dead) »Everything will be well.« (Blatant lie; I also fear Séverin will beat me bloody with her delicately painted cup if I say that), so I settle for: »I will pray for your son,« something I have heard many people say.  
Both seem visibly comforted by that. We exchange another few meaningless words and after that, Séverin and I take our leave. She escorts me back to my room and when we are out of view, smiles and clasps my shoulder. »That was good. We'll make a priest of you yet.« Then she turns serious. »You have until tomorrow to find out how to conduct a funeral.«  
I am thrown by the sudden change of mood. »But surely, there is some hope-«  
She stops me and turns to face me. »The only reason I put the boy on oxygen was so that his parents would have the chance to say goodbye. I bought him one day. Tomorrow, the boy will be dead. There will be a funeral and there will be grieving. And after a while, his memory will be nothing but a faint pain, a scar buried underneath new memories. It is the way things are.« Her voice breaks and she leaves me in front of Jarred's house without another word.

 

It happens the way Séverin predicts. I am called away to the funeral home around midday. Even before I enter, I already hear someone crying loudly. It is a heart-rending sound, the wail of a mother who has lost her child and I pause for a few moments to compose myself.  
I speak slowly, dredging the words from memory. Thankfully, my speech is brief and I am succeeded by the grieving. I am surprised by how much words there are to be said about a creature that lived a little over a day; but I suppose parents could talk about the love they hold for their children for a long time.  
The mother does not speak, though she is calmer by the end. I place a gentle hand upon her shoulder and she holds it tightly. The small coffin is carried to the cemetery and buried. I help along, because the men struggle visibly after a few shovelfuls. Afterwards there is a reception. I am thanked for a beautiful speech, though I had spoken by rote what I copied from books. I hover close to the parents, Jason and Kara, because Kara has my hand in a vice-like grip and does not seem inclined to let go. When the people are gone, Kara says: »Why did my son die, Father?«  
After a few moments of contemplation, I decide to lie. For the first and last time. »I do not know why David died, Kara. I do not know why so many people died, why God thought it necessary.« I touch her arm. »But he does love you, just as he loved your son. Is it not better that David is no longer struggling for each breath? That he is finally at peace?«  
Kara is silent, but she nods.  
I decide to stay. This place is as good as any to begin earning forgiveness.

 

When Jarred is well enough to return home, I move to Séverin's house. She is a merciless instructor and under her tutelage I finally begin to understand how to act and think like a human.  
I still move out at the earliest opportunity. The woman snores loud enough to raise the dead.  
I try hard not to think of the dead.  
After I move into my own abode, I notice a rise in visits from townspeople, mostly unattached women, who offer to help me with keeping house and cooking for me. I gently rebuff them, for I have done everything myself since I began my training, though secretly I am amazed and humbled by their helpfulness.  
When I tell Séverin about it, she laughs very, very hard until she is a hiccoughing, snorting mess on the kitchen floor. She then patiently explains exactly why lonely women would seek out my company.  
I find it tasteless, vulgar and base and I will have nothing further to do with it.  
Krypton was far more civilized in that respect.

 

Weeks pass, then months, and suddenly, without my being aware of it, I have spent a year here. I know everyone by name, I could find my way to the outlying villages and farms in my sleep, and my room feels like-  
It feels like home.  
So I gather my notes and make for the church, as I do every Sunday, with Akasi by my side.


	3. Lois and Zod

The mass passes as a blur for Lois. She hears Zod's voice, but the words wash over her, like a dark tsunami. Inside, there is a savage, vicious joy, mixed with rage. He is found. He will pay.  
When the mass finishes, Zod steps down to speak to his flock. He speaks to Jason and Kara and pats their son on the head. He speaks to the sheriff about the bear attacks. There are a million things to be discussed with his parishioners, even though they do not concern God in the slightest.  
He turns and sees Séverin approach, with Lois in tow. Séverin makes the introductions.  
»The good doctor entrusts another soul into my care?« Zod offers his hand to Lois. After a few moments, she shakes it.  
»Perhaps not this one. But I have a request for you. We need to talk.«  
»Hm. Come with me, then.«

 

Zod prepares tea in the sacristy while listening to Lois' story. He asks to see the picture. He remarks: »A lovely young woman.«  
»Thank you.«  
»Finding your sister will be difficult. Because, and this surely must have crossed your mind, if she were alive, she could have let you know many times over.«  
Lois stills as she frantically searches for an answer. »Yes, I know. But until I am certain she is dead, I will keep searching. She is the only family I have left.«  
Zod passes her a cup and says: »Hope is a dangerous thing, Ms Darzi. It burrows inside our hearts and slowly eats its way out. What it leaves is usually not worth having.«  
Lois mocks Zod's poetic inclinations in the privacy of her mind. Out loud, she says: »I have debated all of these points with myself already, many times. I will keep searching.«  
Zod nods. »Very well. I will ask around when I begin my rounds on Monday, but I can promise you nothing.« Just as Séverin and Lois rise to leave, he says: » May I ask what was on the other half of the picture?«  
Lois does not speak at first. Then she says, quietly, »Me.«  
When they are gone, Zod stares at the picture until he feels he has done enough wallowing in self-recrimination for one day. He returns home and starts packing for Monday.

 

On Monday he starts off west before sunrise and visits as many houses as he can. As he expects, no one has seen or heard of Jenny Darzi.  
On Tuesday, he goes north. He steadfastly avoids the house of old widow Thompson, she of the dirty mind and long, quick fingers.  
On Wednesday, he goes east. The Bergbrowski family seem to recognize Jenny at first, but then it turns out they had seen someone like her before the catastrophe.  
On Thursday, he goes south. There are only three houses on the way, so he goes to the city and makes some inquiries there. No luck, just as he had expected.  
On Friday, he relents and goes to see old widow Thompson. He does not particularly relish having to keep his back to the wall for an entire hour and being punished for each of his lapses by a pinch to the rear, especially since he comes out empty-handed. Still, he has done all he could.  
On Saturday, he prepares his sermon while stroking Akasi's head in his lap. In the evening, he goes to see Andrea Darzi.

 

Lois lets him in and offers him some water. He accepts. She goes back to hanging her washing.  
»You don't mind, do you, Father?«  
»What? Oh, not at all, Ms Darzi. Please, carry on.«  
»I can't thank you enough for the trouble you've gone to for me,« Lois says. She keeps her eyes on Zod as much as possible. Zod smiles and says, »It was my pleasure. Unfortunately, no one here has seen or heard of your sister.«  
Lois hangs the last piece of laundry and sits on the bed. »I thought so. It was a long shot anyway. May I have my picture back?«  
»Of course.«  
Lois looks at the picture for a while, gently smiling. She caresses Jenny's face.  
»Where will you go now?«  
Lois slumps and rubs a tired hand across her face. »I don't know. I'll stay here for a few days, then probably go home, try again in a few months, go north…«  
Zod nods. He thinks about repeating the advice he gave in church, but he decides not to. It would serve no purpose and it would only upset her.  
Lois says, »I'm running low on cash. Is there any way I could earn money in this town?«  
»I'll ask around,« Zod says and then stands. »Thank you for the water, Ms Darzi.«  
Lois stands as well and offers Zod her hand. »Thank you, Father Drew.« He gently squeezes her hand and leaves.  
As soon as Zod is gone, Lois washes her hand under hot water with copious amounts of soap. She disinfects it once, and then again for good measure. She also contemplates lye, but she decides that would be going a bit far.  
She lies down and begins to write.  
1\. Invulnerability? Better make sure of that before I pull a gun on him.  
2\. Remaining powers or just better adapted to these conditions? Observe for now.  
3\. Cache of weapons? In which case I'm fucked anyway. Assume he doesn't and hope for the best.  
4\. Alerting the authorities ? Hell no. They love him. He has them eating out of his hand.  
5\. Health? Satisfactory.  
6\. Nefarious plan? Unlikely, but not impossible.  
7\. Does he recognize me? Probably not. Observe for any lapses.  
8\. Story holds up, ditto identity. For now. Séverin may present a problem.  
9\. Stash alive and well.  
10\. Sort of fitting in. See 8.  
11\. Reacting to fake name? Yes. What if someone uses my real name? Then I'm fucked anyway. Assume they won't and hope for the best.  
12\. Find an excuse to stay in town even after they find nothing on your »sister«. Teacher? They don't have a school. Offer to wait tables. Anything.  
13\. Find a good, believable excuse to spend as much time in Zod's company as possible.

 

On his way home, Zod remembers that Delia is due any day now and calls at Al Compton's. Al agrees to take Andrea Darzi on until either Delia comes back or Andrea leaves, whichever comes first. They shake hands.  
As he prepares for bed, Zod thinks about how hungry her eyes had been. He had seen such hunger only once, on another woman.  
But that had been on another world, and besides, the woman is now dead.  
He ruthlessly pushes down the memories clawing their way up. The living have need of his attention, not the dead. He notices, though, that the memories are not as painful as they used to be. Finally, he thinks. I am finally beginning to scar over.

 

Lois starts working as a waitress. After a few days, she finds she enjoys the sheer mundanity of the job. She had worked as a waitress in college and while she remembers people drinking far more alcohol than they do now, she is surprised how quickly she falls into the routine. Her memory had always been excellent, her people skills perhaps less so, but overall she thinks she does a good job. Al certainly doesn't complain.  
Al Compton is a large man, wider than he is tall. One would think that, the world being as it is, he would be at least thinking about losing weight, but he will have none of it. He likes to eat and he likes to eat well. He is kindly disposed to the world at large, the rare exceptions being people who confuse lager and ale, and those who think whisky equals scotch. He is kindly disposed to Lois, because she committed neither the former nor the latter sin when he asked, and when she comes to him with an idea on how to raise the sales, he listens and thinks and promises to see what he can do.  
Meanwhile one day, as she is polishing the counter, Lois realizes what she is missing: music. Ever since she left Metropolis, there has not been one bar, restaurant or hotel that played music. She plugs her phone into the speakers and plays Al Green.  
(Before, Perry had mocked her for listening to such sentimental music. But one evening she had heard the very same music he had mocked coming from under the door of his office. She had burst inside, crying »Ha!« melodramatically, only to find Steve face deep into an intern's cleavage. In exchange for her silence, she had access to courtside seats for every game for one year.) She starts experimenting with a new flavour, tries to recreate a cocktail she once drank in Berlin from memory and swaying to the music, when a shadow falls over her.  
»I am glad to see you are enjoying yourself.«  
Lois yelps, drops the glass along with the shaker and sweeps the bottle of gin off the counter. The glass shatters on the floor, the shaker bounces and the bottle ends up caught by Zod. Who had, Lois notices, a little over a second to move to her side and catch the bottle, which had been falling very fast. So, super-speed, she thinks sourly. Not looking good.  
She decides not to acknowledge it at all. »Oh, thank you. I would probably have had it docked out of my pay, since it was my fault and all.«  
Zod places the bottle back awkwardly. »Well, perhaps we share blame on this. I should not have startled you.« He sits on the stool. »Are you settling in well?«  
»Well enough. Al is a good boss,« Lois says as she cleans the shaker under water and begins mixing again.  
»That he is. I assume you are one of the enlightened few who know the difference between ale and lager?«  
»As well as scotch and whiskey.«  
»Well, then he is sure to offer you employment even after Delia comes back. People like you are few and far in between, in his opinion.«  
»That is good to hear.« Zod smiles at her words. »May I offer you a drink, Father?« She unobtrusively fingers the two pills she carries in her pockets at all times.  
»Thank you, but I don't drink alcohol.«  
»Well, this is your lucky day then. I offer you a cocktail without the slightest trace of alcohol, on the house. I call it The Original Virgin.« Zod hesitates and Lois says, »No alcohol, I promise. I used to make it for my nephew when he wanted to play adults-« Her eyes fill with tears which she wipes away. »Excuse me,« she whispers.  
Lucy and Ron and little Sam, crushed to death in their apartment. Did Sam sleep through it? Or did he spend the last few minutes of his life crying for his mother?  
The silence in the bar is broken only by Lois' ragged breathing as she struggles for control. Zod stands, walks to her side and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. They stay like that for a while. Eventually. Lois is calm again, though her inner beast is chanting _make him pay, make him pay, make him pay!_ Zod removes his hand and says: »I have to go now. But if you ever feel like talking about it, you know where to find me. I'm in most evenings, Saturdays and Sundays.«  
You bastard, Lois thinks. She says, »I might take you up on that.«  
»Please do.«  
That evening, after taking a long shower and scrubbing the shoulder where Zod touched her raw, Lois unlocks Lucy' picture with Ron and baby Sam on her phone.  
She viciously slams the phone on the nightstand two seconds afterwards.

She takes Zod up on his offer. They talk about Metropolis, her family (where Lois pays great attention to call her sister Jenny and not Lucy), her work before the disaster (Lois says writer, which is technically true).  
Lois needs not fabricate her grief, which is very real. To her surprise, she needs not hide her disgust or rage either because they are muted by the promise of violent, bloody retribution. It helps her act out her part.  
Zod, however, finds himself enjoying their talks. For all that he had decried unattached human women in the past, he finds himself enjoying her company. There is a hungry fire in her eyes that seems unquenchable when she looks at him. That, and the fact that she is not obsequiously trying to worm her way into his bed is a refreshing one. The only other unattached woman not trying to worm her way into his bed is Séverin, and Zod interrupts the train of thought immediately because it is not headed anywhere pleasant.

One evening, when Andrea goes off on a tangent and starts ranting against the government, he suddenly sees for a brief moment Faora before him, who had once in a fit of unparalleled rage spat out: »I would rather die than whore myself out for the amusement of the sons and daughters of Krypton!« He had never dared to ask about the particulars. Faora's rage was a wondrous thing to behold. Provided it was viewed from afar.  
He laughs softly and earns himself a half-surprised, half-injured look. He makes his apologies, claiming to have been borne away by pleasant memories.  
»And you permit yourself to wallow in them? Do you not find such indulgences weakening?«  
The question catches him off-guard, as does the look on Andrea's face. There is the hunger, which Zod considers to be an essential part of her by now, but it has been multiplied and magnified into a manic, ravenous, all-encompassing emotion, mixed with rage into something he had dubbed the Beast, in the privacy of his own mind, even though he had witnessed it only a handful of times.  
And there is grief, deep inside, buried under the rage and hunger. And he is sympathetic to that, at least.  
»No. Were I to cease thinking of my comrades and friends after I have lost them, I would be no better than an animal. I honour their memory by thinking of them, though it is often a painful thing to do.«  
Andrea thinks it over in silence. Slowly the beast disappears into the shadows. Zod walks over to her and places a gentle hand on her face.  
»It may seem impossible at this moment, but I promise you, you will heal. One day you will think of your sister and it will hurt, but it will hurt from far away, much like a storm viewed through a window. But if you bury your wounds and your pain, they will not heal. They will fester.«  
Andrea leaves soon after that.

After scrubbing her left cheek bloody (soap-pumice-sandpaper), Lois settles in bed.  
She opens Lucy's photo and stares at it for a long time. Ron is talking to someone off-screen with his cap in hand, Lucy is laughing and little Sammy's eyes are fixed on something on the ground.  
_»Lois, quick, he's going to wiggle out of my arms!«_  
_»Is that my- Hey! That's my- Oh. Thank you, sir. «_  
On the way home, Sam had fallen asleep to Lucy's lullabies in the back and Ron and Lois had talked softly so as not to wake him. She stares at the picture for a long time, then she flicks through Dad's photo (the only one where he smiled), Perry and Jimmy at the Planet's New Year's Eve party. She locks them again because the next picture is of Cl-  
She turns the phone off. She does not sleep at all.

The bar sees an influx of patrons who seem eager to try the results of her alcoholic experiments. Al, who kept his promise to expand the range of beverages on sale, is eager for her to continue working as a barman even when Delia, fresh from her maternity leave and eager to escape an irritable jobless husband, returns to wait the tables. Lois is a little discomfited by Delia bringing her baby to work, but Joshua is a lovely, quiet baby, dark haired and blue-eyed and he reminds Lois of Martha's photos of Cl-  
Of Clark. Who drowned in the Indian Ocean, who died saving everyone from the monster who even now walks the earth unpunished and preaches about morality and values. From the monster that killed Clark, her father, her mother, her sister, her nephew, her friends. The beast rears its ugly head again and roars and roars and roars until it spends all its energy and goes back to sleep.  
Delia finds her in the storage room, crying quietly. She holds Lois for a long time until her sobs have died down.

It happens one day, completely out of the blue, when the normally graceful Father Drew escorts Andrea Darzi out and slips on the porch. He slams his head against the wood table and there is a loud crack. The table is still standing, though, and Zod is sporting a bleeding gash in his temple, next to his scar.  
Lois allows herself to feel utter joy for one second and with one leg, she unobtrusively pushes the doormat back over the patch of oil she had poured in front of the door before coming in. Then she says: »Father, are you alright?«  
Zod quietly curses his clumsy, useless feet. »Yes, quite.« Lois produces a handkerchief, doused in midazolam, cleans the wound with it and then presses it against the gash. Zod hisses, but is otherwise silent.  
»Let me help you get back in,« Lois says, places his arm over her shoulder and steers him to the couch, where she has him lie down. »Do you want me to get Séverin?«  
»Good heavens, no. She would poke and prod me with her magic needles and in the end she would say it was my own silly fault for slipping.«  
»Even so, that wound will need stitches unless you want another scar.«  
»Why not?« Zod touches the wound and winces before Lois bats his hand away. »At last I'll have a matching set. Something I've always wanted.« At Lois' dubious look, he says: »It is an old joke. Pay me no heed, Ms Darzi.«  
»Then I'll stay here to make sure you're okay. Head injuries are not to be taken lightly.«  
»I would not want you to trouble yourself on my account.« Zod's words are a little slurred at the edges and his eyes are becoming unfocused.  
»It's the least I can do, Father.«  
»Thank you, Ms Darzi.«  
»I think that you can call me Andrea.«  
»Very well then.« Zod tries to raise himself, but his arm buckles and he falls back onto the couch. »Perhaps calling Séverin is not such a bad idea after all. I do feel strange.«  
»Of course. She'll be here right away.«  
»Thank you, Andrea.«  
Séverin proclaims Zod a clumsy fool, but she admits him for observation. The next morning he is discharged with the advice not to smash his head against wooden tables anymore.

Lois sits on her bed and writes.  
1\. Invulnerability? Check.  
2\. Remaining powers or just better adapted? Midazolam will take care of it either way.  
3\. Cache of weapons? See 2. He can't get to the weapons if he can't stand on his legs.  
4\. Nefarious plan? Highly unlikely.  
5\. Does he recognize me? Highly unlikely.  
6\. ~~Find a good, believable excuse to spend as much time in Zod's company as possible.~~ Talking about the people he killed and watching him squirm.  
She slowly begins to formulate a plan. A small voice at the back of her mind says that while General Zod had been a monster, Father Drew is a good man who does not deserve to die. She steadfastly ignores it.

It is easy to coax Zod into offering her a guided tour of the surrounding area. They agree on Saturday and Lois starts preparing.  
1\. Midazolam pills. (Thank you, broken leg.)  
2\. The Original Virgin, two pints. (Thank you, Al.)  
3\. Two glasses. (Ditto.)  
4\. Gun and magazine. (Retrieved from cache.)  
5\. Other. (Not really important.)

Come Saturday morning, Lois is a bundle of nerves. She paces up and down her room while the little voice in her head advocating mercy is steadily getting louder.  
When Zod knocks on her door, she yelps, composes herself, nearly slips and brains herself on the bedpost and finally makes it to the door unharmed.  
Zod smiles as he sees her. »Ready, Andrea?«  
»As ready as I'll ever be.«

They spend the morning walking east. Zod shows her the lake where the children swim in the summer and the warren where a family of rabbits lives. It is a lovely day and Lois thinks that if she were here with anyone else, she would enjoy herself immensely. They break for lunch and Lois takes out the Original Virgin. »Can I tempt you, Father?«  
Zod smiles. »If it was good enough for your nephew, than it's good enough for me.«  
Lois carefully pours the drink and covertly slips the crushed pill into Zod's glass. She watches him like a hawk as he tastes it and then downs it. »More?«  
»Yes please.« He drinks two more glasses, each time with the pills added, and each time he compliments her skills at mixing drinks.  
Lois goes to wash the glasses in the lake. She is in no hurry to come back and when she does, Zod is definitely feeling the effects.  
»Andrea, I feel strange. What was in the drink you gave me?«  
Lois takes out the gun and aims it at Zod. »Apples and pears and a few bears.«  
»Andrea, what are you-«  
»Lois. My name is Lois. Lois Lane.« Zod frowns. »You once had me come on board your ship. Together with Clark, who you persisted in calling Kal-El.« She watches with glee as Zod's expression goes from puzzled, to comprehending, to horrified and distraught. He opens his mouth to speak, but Lois cuts him off. »There is nothing you can say that would erase your crime and earn you forgiveness.«  
»I am aware of that.«  
»Do you think that working as a priest will earn you redemption?«  
»No.«  
»You have killed my family, my colleagues and my friends. And you have doomed humanity to a slow, suffocating death.«  
»I know.«  
»Is that all you can say?«  
»I am deeply ashamed and regretful of my actions.« The words are slurred. »If I could undo the damage I've done, I would; at any price. Since that is not possible, I do the best I can.«  
»No, no, you don't. Clark did the best he could. He used his powers to help those in need. He died saving us. And what of you? Preaching about morality and values. You? Is there nothing better you could do with your powers?«  
»People would know who I was. I would be lynched.«  
»And that would be unfair, in your opinion?«  
Zod is silent. At first Lois thinks he is asleep, but then he forces his eyes open. »If you mean to kill me, kill me. I know I deserve no better. Telling me things I already know is a waste of my time, not to mention yours.«  
Lois aims at his heart. She finds she can't pull the trigger. She struggles with herself for several minutes. Then she thinks, well, what the hell, I might as well skip directly to step four, and says: »Look at me, Zod.«  
Zod does as he is told.  
»You did this to me. You destroyed my life, do you understand that?«  
»Yes.«  
»I want you to understand what you did, Zod. So you'll know for the rest of your life that this-« Lois puts the gun to her temple-  
»No, don't-«  
»-is your fault,« Lois says and pulls the trigger.


	4. Andrea and Drew

She hears a crack and feels a faint pain in the back of her head. She wonders how long it will take for her brain to stop working after the bullet has passed through it until she becomes aware of a weight on her body.

It is Zod. He wrenches the gun from her hand and throws it away. His movements are slow and sluggish, but he is much stronger than her and he overpowers her easily, despite her struggles. For a brief, terrifying moment Lois is afraid he will rape her, until he stops and gently touches her skull. His fingers come away covered in blood.

»You’re bleeding. We need to get you to a doctor.«

It is possible that anything he might have spoken in that moment would have caused her to do the same thing, kindly though it was meant. Lois knees him between the legs and pushes him away as he folds over, grunting in pain. She kicks him in the stomach for good measure and makes to retrieve the gun. It doesn’t work out so well, because nausea and dizziness hit her the moment she stands up.

One of his hands shoots out and grabs her ankle, pulling her to the ground. As she struggles, he climbs on top of her and pins her down.

Lois is surprised to her herself speak in a calm, quiet voice. »Let me go.«

»Absolutely out of the question.«

»I will not ask you again.«

»You do not need to. My answer stands.«

»You have no right to hold me prisoner.«

»I do not consider you a prisoner, merely someone in desperate need of help.«

»And I suppose you consider yourself qualified to administer help, do you? A mass murderer, counseling one of his victims on the senselessness of suicide?« Lois struggles, though she knows it serves no purpose at all. She already is breathing heavily from the exertion.

»I would advise against any strenuous activity. Your body is not as well adapted to the low level of oxygen. I would hate for you to come to any harm.«

»Let me go.«

»I believe we have covered that. The answer was no.«

»I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to kill myself anymore. Let me go, please.«

»Do you take me for a fool? No.«

»I don’t want your help.«

»Want, no. Need, yes. I will carry you if I must.«

Lois flops down and doesn’t move at all. After a while, Zod sighs and picks her up. Lois tries to make it as hard as possible for him, until she sees blood on her clothes where he touches her. She spins and lands with her feet on the ground. Zod, with a weary sigh, makes to pick her up again until she gently peels away his sleeve to see a bullet wound on his forearm which is bleeding sluggishly. She slowly circles the wound with one finger, mesmerized.

»You’re injured,« she says softly.

»It is of no consequence. I will remove the bullet once we are in the village. Please, let me take you to Séverin so that she may examine you.«

»We should go looking for the gun. Children could find it.«

»I will do it first thing in the morning, before sunrise, I promise. Children aren’t allowed out at this hour anymore. Please, come with me now.«

Lois relents. »Alright.«

They walk off until Lois starts complaining of a headache and nausea, whereupon Zod hoists her into his arms, her objections nonwithstanding, and carries her home, running all the way.

 

Séverin, strangely enough, does not comment Andrea Darzi’s injury. She dresses the wound quicky and efficiently and admits her for observation.

There are Looks directed at Father Drew, however. He pays them no heed and, true to his word, retrieves the gun the next morning at sunrise. He stashes it safely inside his house, out of anyone’s reach except his own.

When she wakes next morning to Séverin gently shaking her, Andrea Darzi’s stomach is still sensitive and when she catches a whiff of a strong smell, she barely chokes out »Going to be sick,« before she really is. Séverin holds the bucket and gently brushes her hair away from her face

Andrea asks to be discharged so she can see Father Drew. The answer is predictable, really:

»Oh? Discharge someone with a head injury after less than twenty-four hours of observation? What could possibly be negligent of me if I were to do that?«

She begs and cajoles, to no avail. Séverin relents enough to allow _one_ visit and she has Father Drew swear on the Bible he will call her at the first sign of trouble.

Neither speaks for some time.

Lois is the first to speak. »They are dead because of you.«

»I know. For what it is worth, I truly regret every single death I have wrought upon this world.«

»That isn't enough for me.«

Zod looks at her helplessly. »What will you have me do? Torment me by showing me the faces of each and every one of my victims? Have me proclaim my guilt to the entire world?«

His obstinacy and obtuseness finally snap her already-fragile patience into two. »You are too serene for someone who is carrying the death of an entire world on his conscience. You should be a broken man, a shell of a creature, and yet here you are, preaching about morality. You, in the role of someone who is implicitly trusted and revered as a man of honour and faith! How dare you be so unaffected when you have left us with nothing! You even took away our hope…« Exhasted, she sinks back onto the bed and breathes deeply to calm herself.

When she opens her eyes, he is still sitting before her, watching her calmly. »The only right thing to do is to repent by doing good to the people I have wronged. If I were to wail and gnash my teeth, my life would serve no purpose. I would much rather not look into the eyes of those I have destroyed and lied to, but I must. It is my burden to bear.«

»You are not forgiven for what you have done.«

Zod nods wearily. »I never expected to be, were I to be found out. I did not wish for anyone to come to any harm because of me.« After some thought, he adds: »Well, for the past three years, anyway.«

Lois’ mind reels for a moment at the length of time she has spent away from home and in a role she did not relish at all.

She wonders how long the world needs to be a certain way until it is accepted as normal. Less than three years, she thinks. There are children playing outside who consider it normal to be out of breath after a few minutes of running around. It is normal to entrust one’s soul to a murderer, who pats the head of your child while it is wheezing for breath after walking up three stairs.

Her heart breaks a little more at that thought.

Andrea Darzi is normal. Lois Lane is not normal. Lois Lane is dead, bullet in head or cracked skull, it doesn't matter. It is time to cut open the wound and drain it. It is time to start healing.

There is a familiar throbbing at her temples. »I think I would like to be alone,« she whispers.

Zod nods, once, and Father Drew leaves.

 

The next morning, she is officially discharged. Unofficially, she stays right where she is because any attempt at standing up has her reaching for the bucket. Come noon, she is hooked up to two iv stands because everything she tries to drink and eat comes back up again almost immediately.

Séverin leaves and returns with what can only be decribed as a drill. She smiles, unconvincingly and far too brightly, and says: »Just in case anything happens, not that it will. Tell me, your family never had an unexplained blood clotting problem? Or allergy to anaestetics?« After Andrea shakes her head no, Séverin disappears into the adjoining room. By crawling to the very edge of the bed and craning her neck Andrea can see her disassembling the drill and putting it into the autoclave, bit by bit.

Séverin’s nurse (who Andrea had, up until that very moment, considered to be a figment of Séverin’s imagination) makes an appearance to watch over her while Séverin is bent over a thick book and making notes, muttering to herself. She is an elderly, sprightly, severe woman and if Séverin’s eyes could see right through people, the nurse’s see right through lead. She does not introduce herself, only says: »You may call me Nurse, dear.«

Both the doctor and the nurse grow more and more agitated as Andrea’s nausea and headaches not only refuse to abate, but grow more and more severe until she is a whimpering mess clutching at her head when she isn’t vomiting into the bucket.

At four in the morning, Séverin and the nurse debate in tense, hushed tones whether to fetch Father Drew and have him administer Extreme Unction before they crack Andrea’s skull open.

The next morning, though, the headache is gone. Andrea sleeps like a baby, waking only to drink a few sips of water every hour or so. When she stands in the evening, she sways from side to side, but she insists on going out, supported on both sides, to see the sunset. She eats an entire graham cracker and goes back to sleep.

 

She slowly begins walking. Séverin is there again, helping, pushing, cajoling. Despite both their efforts, her gait stabilizes somewhere between newborn calf and arthritic elephant, aggravated by weekly bouts of uncontrollable nausea. She is mobile and that is all that can be said about it.

She doesn't despair. Her vanity had been burned and buried long ago, just as the pride she once took in her body. Her mind is no longer brilliant, but fractured, like a mirror that had been smashed against a rock.

From time to time, she is afflicted by debilitating headaches which are to migraines what the Indian Ocean is to a puddle. They sometimes last for over a day and after they are over, Andrea needs another day or two in a silent, dark room to herself to recuperate.

The wound on her head heals slowly, due to the lack of oxygen. Once it closes up completely, Andrea celebrates with a piece of chocolate. She is violently ill for about an hour afterwards. She spends the rest of the day in a foul mood.

Once Séverin is certain her brain is in no immediate danger, Andrea is allowed on walks, though Séverin insists upon a chaperone, which is, more often than not, Father Drew.

They say very little on the walk, save for an occasional »Watch out for the -« »I saw it, _thank you_.«

Every time she sees him, she remembers hate and fury, sweeping bright red tendrils across her soul, but each time the memory is more vague, more muted.

She often screams at him, calls him names, curses him and his family. Other times, her words cut pieces of him away, bleeding him bit by bit until he believes himself a skeleton hung to dry under the merciless sun. He allows it, welcomes it even. He considers it part if his penance.

But her attacks are weaker each time she opens her mouth, her words less biting, less caustic.

One day she looks at him and feels nothing at all.

Finally, she thinks. I am beginning to scar over.

 

Father Drew walks on eggshells around her, whether from fear _of_ her or _for_ her, she cannot tell. One day, she has enough.

»Would you please stop treating me like I may break at any time?«

Drew looks taken aback by her outburst. »Well, you did. Mentally, when you put a gun to your head, and physically, when I smashed your skull against a rock.«

She relents because as arguments go, his is a reasonable one. She also finds it funny, though it would take torture for her to admit it out loud.

 

One day she asks him: »What did your symbol mean?«

He frowns. »What?«

She taps her breastbone. »The symbol on your chest. Clark's meant hope. What did yours mean?«

He is silent for a long time before he answers. »Oh. It meant… It meant Strength. Ruthlessness. Mercilessness. Enduring courage in the face of overwhelming odds. There is no word in English for it, I think. It was the quality that defined a good soldier.«

 

»I think I am ready to go home.«

She can _feel_ his sceptisicm coming off in waves, though when she looks at him, his face is carefully blank. In that moment, he reminds her of Hardy so very much.

»Perhaps you might reconsider and stay with us for a little longer.«

»Why?«

»You are still too weak to travel, especially in an environment so hostile to humans and most certainly alone. Give yourself a few weeks more. By then you will be strong enough to consider such an exertion as an acceptable risk.« Drew does not look at her as he says it.

Neither of them says the truth out loud: that her body being what it is, she would most likely not get very far.

 

One day, as she is walking (hobbling) with Father Drew's aid, she says: »Shouldn't the moon have already crashed into us by now?«

He does not speak for some time, his brow furrowed. »Since you mention it, yes, I suppose it should have happened.«

»And where did all the oxygen go? Was it somehow vented into space? Bound into the crust? Why is there so little of it left?«

»You have certainly spent a great deal of time pondering these matters.«

Another few minutes pass until Andrea says, a little testily: »And you haven’t?«

Drew is silent. Then: »I am sure much brighter minds have already had these thoughts and reached an appropriate conclusion. We are not here to think. We are here to-« He stops talking abruptly, and stares into the distance for some time.

A gentle, raspy voice says: _do you not owe it to your victims to find out?_ It sounds much like Jor-El.

Afterwards, he speaks again, slowly and carefully. »Perhaps it would not be amiss to seek out the opinion of someone more experienced in celestial mechanics. And geology. And, perhaps, ecology.«

 

Such a person proves hard to find.

Swanwick, once he deigns to return her calls, proves to be profoundly uncooperative, but from what he doesn’t say Andrea paints herself a relatively clear picture: someone has already asked that question and someone has answered it. Noone is panicking, so this is no urgent matter.

All well and good, but Andrea is itching to see and gauge things for herself.

Weeks of relentless search (letters, phone calls and the occasional email sent from an old computer someone dragged from their basement and hooked up to a likely-looking cable) turn up nothing.

It is only after Sheriff Lupo remembers hearing of someone in a city a few hundred miles to the south-east who supposedly works as a scientist for the government.

(»Scientists aren’t mix-and-match. His field of study may lie completely outside what we want to know.« »Perhaps, but even so, he may point us in the right direction. Would you prefer someone who supposedly works as a fool for the governement?« »Very well.«)

(She does not say that those who work as fools for the government are a dime a dozen. He probably wouldn’t understand. Or perhaps, he would understand only too well.)

Father Drew entrusts Akasi to Séverin’s care. Akasi whines and licks his face as he hugs her goodbye and Séverin shakes his hand before he leaves. She says: »You were far from being the worst priest I have ever had to work with,« which he takes for what it truly is: praise.

Father Drew packs his few belongings into a small backpack and takes his leave from his beloved congregation. His last sermon is delivered to a full church, with several dozen people milling outside, unable to enter. Many shake his hand (or squeeze his shoulder, a few even kiss his cheeks, though Drew does his best to avoid certain kisses, since they are likely to miss his cheek entirely and contain a considerable amount of tongue), so it is not until after noon that he actually hoists the backpack on his shoulder and runs into Andrea waiting for him on his porch; backpack, boots and her trusted cane at the ready.

»Absolutely not.«

»Absolutely not what?«

»I refuse.«

»I haven't even told you what I want yet.«

»Your opinion on soldiers notwithstanding, I am not a fool. You are not coming with me. You are in no condition to travel and any injury would potentially cripple you.«

Andrea’s eyes begin to glint. She smiles, as a tigress does, closing in for the kill.

 

She makes them stop beside the Thinking Rock and digs out a frankly alarming amount of weaponry. Despite himself, Drew is impressed.

»Where did you acquire these?«

»Friends.«

»I strongly doubt you will need them, if you stay close to me.«

»Children might find them one day. I would blame myself for the rest of my life if anything happened.«

He nods, and helps her dig. By the time the items are in her backpack, she is breathing heavily already.

 

They reach a city just as the sun drops below the horizon. Andrea is completely exhausted and collapses on her bed without taking her boots and backpack off, the cane next to her on the bed. She falls asleep immediately. Drew gently takes off her shoes and covers her with a blanket. She murmurs softly and hugs her pillow.

In that moment, she looks like a small, heartbroken little girl.

Drew carefully closes the door to her room so as not to wake her. He falls asleep late and has to be shaken awake by Andrea.

»Sun’s up. Let’s go.«

 

Drew is, despite himself, impressed. Andrea finds answers. Though some of them are mutually exclusive, with time and distance, they become less and less vague and more promising. Her skill and dexterity at extracting truth outweighs her physical frailty and dependence on him.

»Is this how you found me?«

Andrea looks confused for a few moments, but then her brow clears. »Yes. It is surprising what people will tell you of their own free will. Even if they think they’re being completely opaque.«

Drew nods. »Yes. Very few people here pay attention to details in their own body language and voice patterns.«

Andrea is loath to ask anything pertaining to his home planet, but curiosity gets the better of her. »Wasn’t it like that on Krypton?«

»We were, by necessity, more circumspect. Ours was a caste system, based on different professions its members practiced. Familiarity and affection between members of different castes was frowned upon. Most of the time we preferred to give away as little as possible of our thoughts and motives.« As Drew speaks the words, memories of Jor-El and Lara rear their ugly head and he remembers the familiarity and ease with which they had once spoken to one another. He lets the pain wash over him, breathing slowly. »But the friendships I made outside my own caste were surprisingly strong and very precious to me.«

Several minutes pass during which neither of them speaks a word. Then, Drew says: »When we arrived here, I had dismissed humanity as primitive and inferior. But you have many admirable qualities, some of which would have served us well.«

 

They find the supposed government scientist. He is a mousy, skittish creature named Okona who analyzes microelement concentrations in topsoil.

He cowers when Andrea asks him questions, though neither can tell if it’s from her tone or Drew standing behind her glaring. He knows nothing about oxygen being trapped in the soil in larger amounts that usual. His only concession to the strangeness of their questions is to hint furtively that a mental health care practice is situated three doors down and that they are currently accepting patients without coverage. Drew snorts at that.

On second thought, barging into his home with Drew and his nigh-perpetual scowl at her side could have given him the wrong idea.

He rattles off a list of names and locks the door immediately after they leave. Andrea hears the _snick snick_ of the lock as they walk away.

They sit down in a diner. »Well, that went well,« she says and rubs her face.

Drew drinks his orange juice. »He gave us names and I am reasonably certain he did not lie. We will have enough opportunity to improve our performance, I’m sure.«

Andrea looks at him and tries to gauge whether or not he is joking. She can’t tell for certain, but she thinks there is a ghost of a smile on his face.

 

She is bent over a small notepad, scribbling and crossing things out while muttering to herself. All of a sudden, she says: »Do you know how the machine worked?«

He had been immersed in mental arithmetic concerning how long their money would last and when they would be forced to stop until he earned some more with physical labour. »Pardon?«

»The machine you used above Metropolis. Do you have any idea how it worked?«

»The World Engine? I was not familiar with the particulars. There was a scientist on board our ship who concerned himself with such matters.« While Jax-Ur had been a highly suspect creature and his presence barely tolerable, his knowledge would have been useful now.

»Oh, okay then.« Andrea goes back to scribbling.

»May I ask what it is you’re writing?«

»It’s just questions, for when we meet someone who knows what’s going on.«

»I see. May I have a look?«

Andrea looks at him curiously, then shrugs and hands him the scruffy pad. He leafs through it, then hands it back.

»I remember hearing a lecture on World Engines when I was still an apprentice at the Guild on Krypton. If I remember correctly, there was something the Engines could do to the total mass of oxygen a planetary body held. If there was too much of it, they somehow bound it into the crust. If there was too little of it, they liberated some of it into the atmosphere. « Andrea frantically scribbles all of it down. »How exactly they did it, I do not remember. I left science to minds other than my own.«

»Anything else?«

»Something happened to the worlds we changed with the World Engine. It did not happen for many millenia but over time, the old colonial outposts had turned inhospitable. We visited them after Krypton was destroyed. We were desperate for any shred of what had once been our home, but all we found was desolation. Everywhere we encountered the same situation: no survivors and a barren, desolate landscape, hostile to any kind of life.«

Andrea slowly turns pale as the words sink in. »Do you think that the same thing will happen here?«

»I truly could not say.« As Andrea’s mouth turns into a thin line, he says: »The worlds may simply revert to what they were before they were terraformed.«

The mood, however, is broken. Andrea’s replies are terse and sharp and he knows better than to engage her in conversation when she is like this.

 

Of course it comes to happen that they end up in one room with one bed because it is the only thing the miserable excuse for a settlement they are passing through has to offer.

Drew places his sleeping bag on the floor wordlessly, without looking at her. He also offers her first crack at the hot water.

There is none, but she appreciates the gesture anyway. Then she rebukes herself for feeling gratitude towards a mass murderer and then rebukes herself again for overanalyzing things, because she feels the familiar tightness around her temples which signals that a migrane is not far away.

When Drew returns to their room, he finds it dark and silent. Andrea says »Headache,« before he can flip the light switch and he replies, »Of course. Do you need anything for the pain?« He slowly picks his way to his sleeping mat and pulls his backpack closer.

»I’ll just throw them up,« is her reply. Her voice is tight, because the pain is escalating and she thinks throwing up will happen no matter what anyone does.

There is the sound of a zipper, a pop and a sucking sound (that reminds her of Sam trying not to waste any of the milkshake Lois bought for him on one of their infrequent outings. She tries not to think too hard about them, but in the end, resignedly, she lets the memories wash over her and revels in the feel of Sam’s soft cheeks under her hands until the pain becomes too much to bear.). There are steps and a dry, cold hand grasps her arm. Andrea stiffens.

»I can inject you with a painkiller and an antiemetic. Séverin gave me a few vials of both before I left.«

The pain is nothing short of debilitating. »Okay. It’s not likely to help, though. It never helped before.«

She barely feels the pinprick of the needle or the sting of the drug in her deltoid. She says, »If you can, find a bucket somewhere. My headaches tend to be messy.«

»Understood.« She feels him leave. A few minutes later he comes back and places something next to her bed. He takes her hand and guides it so that she touches the plastic bucket. »It will be right here on your left, should you need it.«

»Thank you.« She hears him climb into the sleeping bag. »I will need at least a day to get back on my feet.« There is no sign of the pain abating anytime soon, but at least it isn’t getting any worse. The nausea, usually so quick to join the fray, is conspicuously absent this time.

He says softly, »I know. Do not worry about it. I will find a way to occupy myself.«

»Planning how to take over the world, no doubt.«

There is silence and for a few unpleasant moments, Andrea thinks she may have crossed a line.

But then Drew says, »Curses. Found out so quickly,« in a stilted monotone, but she hears the amusement in his voice.

Since there is no one to see her, she smiles softly. »Good night. Try not to do anything foolish without me.«

There is a small huff, which she supposes is him smiling. »Good night, Andrea.«

Once they both settle down to sleep, she realizes that the headache is almost gone.

 

They are resting by a road after having walked the entire morning and Andrea says, »I’ve just thought of a way you could partially undo the damage you’ve caused.«

He looks a her, his expression half hopeful and half curious.

»All you need to do is improve our gene poll by adding your superior genes to it. In a few generations, no one would mind the new Earth.«

He is completely serious when he answers. »I have thought about this possibility myself many times. But since the only working Genesis chamber was destroyed years ago, it is impossible.«

Andrea then says, »I thought more along traditional lines. You know, making babies the natural way.«

Drew’s face goes white and then green. He remembers the young (and not so young) women seeking a place in his bed. He says, »I find it tasteless, vulgar and base and I will have nothing further to do with it.«

Andrea’s eyebrows go up, but she says nothing more. She is itching to enquire about the _nothing further_ , but ultimately decides that discretion is in this particular case the better part of valour. Especially since Drew had looked thoroughly disgusted, like a little boy about to go _ew!_

Afterwards, when they are on their way again, Drew wonders, however. How tightly Lara had held the baby and how proudly Jor-El spoke of his son, whom he had known only for a few hours. He remembers Kara always wore a little piece of David’s blanket tied around her wrist, even after she had given birth to her daughter.

He thinks it may not be as tasteless, vulgar and base as he thought.

 

There are numerous failed interviews, where no one opens the door, opens it only to close (or slam) it in their faces soon afterwards, when no one speaks and when people speak only to ask them to leave politely or, in a few cases, very impolitely.

Andrea ends up punching the wall after a particularly frustrating one. She ends up with bruised knuckles even though she swung weakly and only managed to lightly bump her fist against the wall.

She curses her life out loud. Drew touches her shoulder and says: »Do not despair. Despite our current setbacks, we are making progress.«

He is right. Eventually, they find someone who is neither reticent, frightened or suspicious. After explaining what they are looking for, the man gives them a name and address.

He grasps Andrea’s hand as she stands to leave. »Don’t get your hopes up too much. They are good, smart people, but they can’t do miracles.«

 

Andrea knocks loudly on a door she fervently hopes is the one they want. They had been wandering around the city for hours, knocked at many doors, accidentally knocked a few of them down (Drew) and yelled at an old man hard of hearing, who had after fifteen minutes of loud explanations (Andrea, but replaced by Drew since she was completely out of breath about two minutes into the conversation) said: »No, never heard of her. Mmmm, perhaps you should mmm, try the next street?«.

The door is opened by a behemoth of a man in military fatigues. Andrea instinctively takes a step back and bumps into Drew. Behind the behemoth, however, she sees flowers, many of them in various stages of wilting.

»Yes?«

Andrea says: »We’re looking for Mallory Hicks.«

»Doctor Hicks is currently unavailable.«

»Unavailable for what?«

»Anything.«

Drew gently pushes Andrea forward until she is nose-to-nose, or more accurately nose-to-chest with the soldier. »I am a reporter and I am writing a story about doctor Hicks’ attempts at reversing the changes wrought upon our planet.«

The soldier doesn’t sigh or roll his eyes, though it is obvious he wants to. »Please wait here,« and closes the door in their faces.

A few moments later, the door opens again and a harried-looking woman in her late thirties, perhaps early forties appears, takes in their appearances and Drew’s scowl, sighs, and says in a clipped British accent: »You’d better come in, then. Tea or coffee?«

 

Tea for all three of them, the behemoth having only grunted (in the negative, presumably) at being asked. The woman puts the steaming cups on the table and says: »Wait for a few minutes for the tea to develop its flavour. Also, it's hot.«

They make themselves comfortable on the sofa as the woman, who Andrea supposes is none other than Mallory Hicks, potters about in the kitchen. The behemoth is standing unobtrusively to one side, though it does not escape Andrea’s attention that he has placed himself almost directly between Drew and Hicks. His eyes are fixed upon Drew and his hand hovers uncomfortably near the firearm strapped to his thigh.

As if Hicks had read her mind, she yells from the kitchen: »Don’t mind Andy, will you? Lovely boy, but doesn’t trust strangers.«

She appears bearing a tray and slowly begins handing out cups of tea on saucers with biscuits and says, »Digestives only, I’m afraid. Sorry about that.« She gives Drew a curious look as he delicately balances the saucer on his knees while dipping the biscuit into the tea.

»So, Ms. Darzi, looks like we each bring our own bodyguard to the discussion.« Hicks sits down on an armchair and gives Andrea a perfunctory smile. »Tell me, what questions do you need me to answer before you can write your article?«

Andrea pulls a small notepad and her phone out of the pocket of her jacket. »Do you mind if I record our conversation?«

Hicks shrugs, so Andrea sets the phone to record and places it on the table.

»Can you tell us exactly what the aliens did to Earth to change it?«

»Well, there are the obvious changes everyone has noticed: the rise in gravity and the loss of oxygen, which have had many deleterious effects on our health, our society and on our ecosystem.«

»What about the not so obvious changes?«

»Well, as far as we have been able to ascertain, Earth’s core is cooling. It is happening very slowly and the effects won’t be felt for at least a few decades, if not centuries.«

»And what does that mean?«

»Well, it means less seismic activity and less volcanism, for a start.«

»That’s a good thing, though, right?«

»Well, yes. But it also means that Earth’s magnetic field will diminish. A planet’s interior can create a magnetic field if it has a core that conducts electricity, that moves through a process called convection and if it can rotate. Cooling the core means it can’t do either of the last two.« Hicks takes a sip from her cup and continues: »No magnetic field means that the solar wind will strip away our ozone layer and our atmosphere.«

Drew speaks up. »Meaning all animal and plant life will slowly become extinct. The end result will be no survivors and a barren, desolate landscape, hostile to any kind of life.«

Hicks looks appraisingly at Drew. »Very well put, Mr…«

Drew pays her no heed and goes to stand at the window, his back to the room. »Can these changes be reversed?«

Hicks’ expression becomes soft. Pitying, almost. She speaks softly and gently, as if to a child. »We are, despite all rumors to the contrary, not working on a miracle cure for Earth. We are trying to find a way to get off this cursed rock before the whole biosphere suffocates and burns and takes us along with it.«

Andrea looks at her phone. »And you want that kind of information going out to the public?«

Hicks smiles. »Those who hear the news will be long dead when it becomes a reality. It will help to instill a sense of urgency into humanity. Heaven knows we’ve been dragging our feet for long enough now.«

Drew speaks slowly, but his tone is caustic: »Have you tried reversing the changes at all? Did you even attempt to ascertain how they came to be?«

Andrea bites her lip just as Hicks narrows her eyes. »We do the best we can with the _terribly limited resources we have at our disposal._ « The clipped delivery makes her sound even more irritated than she looks.

Acknowledging his blunder, Drew nods, once. »Forgive me. I did not mean to imply otherwise.« He runs his fingers along the window frame as he speaks. »What if, hypothetically speaking, files on the inner workings of the machine that wrought these changes upon Earth were made available to you?«

Hicks’ eyes widen, but she does not appear suspicious. »You mean from the alien ship that crashed in Metropolis? The military retrieved it, but the linguists can’t make head or tails of the language. We don’t even know where to start, since we could be reading cooking recipes or instructions on how to build a weapon of mass destruction, for all we know.«

There is a pause. Then Drew says: »What if there was someone who could translate it for you?«

Hicks sighs. »As far as we know, all the aliens are dead. They were killed by the counterstrike.« Drew feels the familiar pang, but it comes from far away.

Andrea puts the cup and saucer on the table and turns to look at Drew. She already knows what is going to happen next.

»Not all of the aliens are dead. One of them survived. Me.«

Even the behemoth is surprised. He turns to look at Drew appraisingly, surveying him from head to toe.

Mallory Hicks leans back in her chair. After a long moment has passed, she says, »Well, well, well. What an unexpected turn of events. May I ask how you survived the crash?«

»I crashed in an area that was far enough from the World Engine so that its effect upon my immediate surroundings were negligible. I was only lightly injured and while the environment had been already drastically changed, it was far from being what I would consider normal. My injuries healed in little over a day and right now, I function better than a well-trained man would on old Earth.«

Mallory Hicks stares at Drew, enraptured. »Fascinating. I know people who would love to study you in more detail.«

Drew nods, once, curtly. »I am at your disposal. Though, if you permit, translating the database from the colony ship ought to be a priority.«

»Of course.« Hicks stands up and walks over to Drew. She extends an arm as if to touch him. »May I?«

Drew nods. Hicks touches his face, runs a finger along his jaw. She circles him slowly, touching his shoulders. »At first sight, you look completely human.« She returns to her chair and sits down.

»Yes. It is what permitted Kal-El to live among you without suspicion until our arrival.«

Andrea expects Hicks to ask about Kal-El, but the woman only says, after an equally long pause: »So tell me, which one of the aliens were you?«

An even longer pause follows. Drew says, »I was their leader,« and the behemoth suddenly has a gun pointed at him while hustling Hicks into an adjoining room and speaking into his earpiece.

While Drew, arms raised, is assuring everyone willing to listen that he means them no harm and that he came only to help, a group of heavily armed soldiers burst into the room and level a battalion’s worth of firearms at him, including five handguns, five rifles, two machineguns (overkill, in Andrea’s humble opinion) and a surface to air missile (she refuses to even mentally comment on that).

»I thought they said the aliens were back,« whispers one of the soldiers carrying the missile.

»Looks like he doesn’t have a ship with him this time,« whispers the other one.

»Are they going to need the missile then?«

»I don’t know. It might be better if we take it back.«

»Will you two stop the chatter,« says their leader and everyone shuts up.

The squad rearranges themselves so that Andrea is in their line of sight, but so far, no one is pointing a gun at her. She counts that as a good thing.

Drew speaks. He doesn’t move or make any threatening gestures, but he draws himself up, stops being a simple country priest and becomes a warrior. His voice is the voice of a leader, someone who is used to having his orders obeyed unquestioningly. »I am General Dru-Zod of Krypton. Though I once came with warlike intentions, today I come to you in peace. I wish to reverse the damage I have wrought upon your home. I surrender myself to you.«

The leader of the squad speaks into his earpiece. He nods and says: »The General is on his way. Until then, you are not to move.«

Andrea wonders idly who the General is. Her question is answered an hour later.

It is Swanwick, who glares at her as soon as he enters the room.

»Well, Miss Lane,« he says, »fancy meeting you here.«


	5. Zod and Lois

The underground base is still the same. Same grey walls, same lousy coffee and same sullen faces everywhere. Lois and Zod are separated; she is hustled into a debriefing, where she recounts a heavily edited version of her adventures to a slight, mousy woman. The woman asks questions and fills some of the holes in Lois’ story. Then she takes a metaphorical crowbar and pulls out everything Lois had promised herself she would never tell anyone ever. When Lois’ answers are to her satisfaction, she nods and says softly: »Thank you, Miss Lane,« and leaves.

Lois is left sitting in the room to herself until a soldier comes in and says: »You’re free to go, Miss Lane. General Swanwick says you are free to move about the base, though some parts of it are off limits to you and those are clearly marked. For the time being, we ask you not to leave the base. If you need anything, just ask. Please come with me, I will show you to your quarters.«

The quarters are not luxurious, but they have a bed, a sink and a shower. There is even a small table with a chair in one corner of the room. She has slept in and paid for far worse rooms than this.

The soldier says: »General Swanwick would like to speak to you. If you would prefer to rest or explore, I can take you to him in the evening.«

»No,« Lois hears herself say. »No, I’d much rather do it now.«

The soldier nods and leads her to a room that is separated from another interrogation room by a one-way screen. Swanwick is there, with two aides, one of whom is making notes on a tablet, the other of which is recording the conversation in the adjoining room. In the interrogation room there is a table, on one side a slight, forgettable, bald man with glasses, on the other Zod. Behind Zod, five soldiers, each with a firearm strapped to their bodies.

Zod’s answers are short and precise. The man does not often follow up with additional questions.

Swanwick turns to her and does not smile. »Miss Lane. Will you write an exposé about us?«

Lois smiles. She knows her smile is crooked, because the right half of her face sometimes goes on strike, but it is worth to see the brief look of shock cross Swanwick’s face. »It may have escaped your attention, General, but the Daily Planet no longer exists.«

»Old habits die hard, Miss Lane. And I highly doubt you are the type to stop at so insignificant an obstacle. If need be, I am convinced you are capable of building your own printing press.«

This time, Lois smiles a genuine smile, because whether he meant to or not, Swanwick paid her a compliment. »I just want to find out what happened to Earth, General.«

Swanwick turns his gaze back to the interrogation. »So do we. We haven’t gotten very far by ourselves. To be perfectly honest, we have learned more from what the alien told us in the last three hours than we have in the past three years. If he is honest about wanting to help, his translating the database will be of immense value to us. Do you think he is sincere?«

Lois bites her tongue and really thinks about her answer. Finally, she says: »Yes. From what I have seen and heard, I can say he truly regrets what he has done and wants to help.«

Swanwick nods. »Good. Until I decide otherwise, he will have a military escort and limited access to our base.« He says, almost as an afterthought: »Do you consider him a friend?«

The question throws Lois for a loop. The automatic »No, of course not!« sticks in her throat and transforms into a »No. He has been a valuable companion on the road and I am certain I would not have made it so far, were it not for his assistance. But we are not friends. I sometimes barely tolerate his presence.«

Swanwick nods approvingly. »Good. We won’t have to worry about any unnecessary complications.« He dismisses her with another nod and Lois goes back to her room, collapses on the bed and falls asleep.

She wakes up in the middle of the night, incensed, thinking _Did he just imply I was sleeping with Zod?_ Her exhaustion dissipates the anger quickly though and she is asleep again in a matter of seconds.

The next morning she wakes up, washes her face and brushes her teeth (her backpack having magically appeared in her room overnight) and locates the mess. The food is edible and she sees the bottom of her glass through the water in it which earns the mess at least one postapocalyptic Michelin star.

She asks a soldier about the whereabouts of Zod and is told he is in the same interrogation room as before. She goes there and sees the same tableau as the day before, only that the man in glasses had been replaced by a tall burly Asian man who has more in common with a wardrobe than a human being and is listening attentively to Zod while jotting down notes. From time to time the man speaks excitedly, but most of the time the conversation is carried by Zod. It turns out the man resembling a wardrobe is called Nakamoto and is a linguist.

She feels herself a loose end, so she decides she might as well learn something new. She pulls up a chair and listens to Nakamoto and Zod go through the basics of the Kryptonian language.

For the first time she hears Zod speak Kryptonian. It sounds surprisingly pleasant, like a mixture of French and something Celtic. In her opinion, it is much too gentle to be spoken by a soldier.

Nakamoto and Zod are deep in a discussion about subject-verb-object order and how it depends not only on the caste of the speaker, but also on that of the listener, when there is a quiet gong over the speakers. »Oh. Lunchtime. See you in an hour,« is all Nakamoto says as he practically runs to the door.

 

Lois sees Nakamoto in the mess later, shoveling a large plateful of food determinedly into his mouth. She decides to sit next to Zod, who is eating in a corner, with one soldier on each side, both of whom watch his hands like hawks. They pay no attention to her except a cursory glance in her direction to see if she has any knives, guns, surface-to-air missiles or nuclear submarines hidden on her person.

»Hello.«

Zod nods. »Hello. The food here is surprisingly good.«

She smiles. »Yes, it is. It looks like Nakamoto is learning quite a lot from you.«

»Yes. He is very gifted, from what I can tell.«

»Have you begun deciphering the database yet?«

»No. They think it would be better if an intermediary learns Kryptonian first to facilitate the communication between me and the scientists, especially for when highly specific terms will be translated.«

Lois shrugs and finishes her plate. »Fair enough,« is all she says.

»Have you found anything to occupy your time?« asks Zod.

»Don’t worry about me. I always find something to do.«

Zod doesn’t smile, but he quirks an eyebrow. »Yes. Yes, you do.«

 

Nakamoto asks him about other languages of Krypton.

Zod thinks about it for a while, then says: »I think I know what you mean. But there was only one language spoken by the entire planet.«

Nakamoto looks dubious. »Do you mean to say that everyone spoke the same language in the exact same way?«

»No, not that. But even the dialects furthest apart were mutually comprehensible, at least from what I know.« Zod smiles at the memory of the frankly _appalling_ dialect Faora spoke in when he first met her, though at the very end there was only a slight residual softness in her voice that betrayed her origins. »What I am teaching you right now is High Kryptonian, the language spoken publicly, in administration, between people who came from different castes. It is also the language of all the official documents written in the past few thousand years. In the privacy of our own homes, we spoke the dialect we learned from our parents.«

Nakamoto has his head balanced on his hands and is staring at Zod with his mouth half-open. »Can you say something in both dialects so I can have a comparison?«

»Certainly. What do you wish me to say?«

Nakamoto thinks for a while. »Say _I wish this hadn’t happened to me right now_. First in High Kryptonian, then in your dialect.«

Zod repeats a phrase twice and even Lois notices the subtle differences. The second time, the _k_ and the _h_ are sharper, more guttural, the _r_ is rolled and the vowels flow into one another more.

»So this is the dialect you learned from your parents?«

»Yes. Well, my father was often away when I was little so the dialect I speak I learned mainly from my mother.«

»Oh. Fascinating,« Nakamoto says as he begins scribbling into his notebook. »Fascinating,« he repeats. Then he says, »Can we go over the past tenses again?« and they are off once more.

After a few hours Lois yawns, looks at the watch and realizes she has been listening for almost twelve hours. She leaves for her room, where she showers, brushes her teeth and falls into bed.

It is the same thing for the next few days until one day Nakamoto brings Hicks into the room and announces they will begin to try deciphering the database. An array of computers is placed on the table, with Hicks manning two of them simultaneously and Nakamoto with Zod sitting before a monitor.

The next few hours are pure tedium, mostly composed of Hicks saying: »This?« and then Zod saying: »I need to see the files inside it,« and then after a few clicks: »Oh. Crew duty roster,« or »Lunch menu for the coming month,« or »Complaints, miscellaneous, already transmitted to HQ,« or »Complaints, miscellaneous, not transmitted to HQ because they are frankly moronic,« or »Requisition, equipment, unlikely to be ever filled, but still kept on file because we really need them.«

It is about seven in the evening when Hicks says: »What about this?« and Zod says: »This is a password protected folder. We are getting closer.« Hicks clicks and says: »I can’t get inside,« whereupon Zod says: »Yes, because it is _password protected_.« Hicks blinks and says: »Right you are. Excuse me,« and fetches herself a large cup of coffee.

When she comes back, Zod says: »Is there a way for me to input Kryptonian characters?« Hicks and Nakamoto look at each other and Nakamoto says: »I’ve already spoken to the IT team about it. The keyboard will be ready for testing in four days.«

Hicks says: »How many tries do we have?«

Zod says: »Three, whereupon the password is reset. But it will be reset according to a pre-specified algorithm and I know how that works. So in reality, we have an unlimited number of tries.«

Hicks smiles and says: »Well, at last some good news. I think this is enough for today. We start tomorrow morning at seven.«

Lois is sitting with Zod in the mess and the repeated hostile looks, overt and not-so-overt, make her uncomfortable.

»If it would make you feel better, we can switch places,« says Zod.

But Lois is not used to backing down. »No, thank you. I am quite comfortable where I am.« She draws herself up and treats the whole room to a haughty glance. »Just because I’m sitting here with you doesn’t mean I’m plotting to take over the world with you or anything.«

This time even though Zod’s doesn’t smile, the corners of his eyes crinkle. »Of course not. Shame on them if they don’t see it.«

»Exactly.«

 

As promised, the keyboard arrives on the fourth day. It takes a day and a half of adjustment until the password is accepted by the computer. Hicks and Nakamoto are ready to celebrate until Zod says: »Medical files, classified,« and the jubilant atmosphere is ruined.

On the fifth day Hicks stumbles upon the right folder completely by accident. Zod unlocks it and they begin translating the first file. Hicks soon says: »Unimportant, moving on,« but soon they stumble upon the right one. Zod says: »These are notes by Jax-Ur, the scientist. It may very well be they will be completely incomprehensible even to me.« Hicks nods curtly and says: »It’s worth a try.«

They work all night and come morning, Hicks’ eyes are completely bloodshot and Nakamoto is asleep and drooling on the table. (He had fallen asleep on the Kryptonian keyboard, but Zod had gently moved his head away, fearing any damage to the item.)

Hicks says: »Well, this covers only the broadest theoretical principles, but I’m happy so far.«

Zod doesn’t know what to say, so he settles for: »I am glad to hear that.«

Hicks nudges Nakamoto, who starts and begins wiping his chin before he is completely awake. »Day off tomorrow?«

»Hm? Hm. Yes, yes, of course. Do we have anything?«

»I’ll tell you later. Go and get some rest.« Hicks smiles at Nakamoto who lopes out of the room, then turns to Zod: »You too. I think we’ve all earned it.«

 

The search through the archives takes some time and the speed with which Zod and Nakamoto translate slows to a crawl as soon as they begin working on the theoretical texts. Many physicists are consulted to translate/explain, because the texts contain expressions for the principles which humanity knows only in theory at best and has never even thought of at worst.

A typical exchange goes something like this:

Zod says: »The direct translation is atom-bring-home. The last word can also mean earth, as in soil.«

Hicks says: »Teleportation?«

One scientist says: »No, the text was about the transmutation of elements in vast quantities.«

Another says: »Do you think they transmuted the oxygen into sulphur and bound it into the crust?«

The discussion ends in a) drawings, formulae, diagrams on the whiteboard, followed usually by b) a brief scuffle and finally by c) Hicks raising her voice and saying: »Focus, please!«

The whole scene repeats itself ad nauseam, with various actors playing the roles of the two (or somethimes three, rarely one) consulting scientists.

 

One day, Hicks announces that they have enough to go on to begin experiments. The translating sessions stop suddenly. But the xenobiologists, who up until a few weeks ago had been boring, everyday biologists, request Zod’s presence for study.

So his everyday becomes a mishmash of mouth swabs, blood samples, diverse scans (several of which leave everyone perplexed, because some of the images are pure white noise). The scientists are very forthcoming about the results of their study and often take enough time to explain everything in detail, much to Zod’s chagrin, who had, with great difficulty, followed Jor-El’s explanations.

(The memory of Jor-El floats to the surface and he welcomes it like an old friend. There is no pain anymore and he is glad to see his companion once again, even if only for a few moments.)

He eats in the mess and more often than not, he is joined by Lois Lane. He is not bothered by the hostile looks and the whispers and she does her best to hide her discomfort.

He is content with his current situation. He had expected to be treated much worse by his victims. They have a nobility which he finds admirable.

 

It just so happens that Zod is sitting in a corner of the mess hall chewing his food, when a painfully young biologist sits down across the table from him and, without preamble, begins explaining, in great detail and at length, why she would like to run another series of tests. He listens with one half of one ear, the rest of his attention is rightfully occupied by the scrambled eggs in front of him. Until-

»-and maybe we can work out how to change Earth back.«

Zod doesn’t choke or splutter, but he does put his fork down. He remembers what she (Yin, she said her name was) had said to him: study his cells and DNA to find out why he still thrives in such an environment – compare it with human samples – study something something in the Kryptonian files then, as an afterthought, save the world from a slow, lingering death.

He supposes young scientists are like that everywhere. Optimistic, full of fervor, lit by an inner fire.

So he nods and says the words that used to make Jor-El very happy: »That is very interesting. Tell me more.«

So Yin talks and says words like »optimal oxygen consumtion« (which means someone will strap a mask on his face while he is cavorting to the amusement of all around him) and »efficient use of nutrients in muscle fibers « (which means needles and blades) and »superstructures in skeleton and locomotion apparatus« (which means scans, scans, and more scans until his back and behind are as sore as his ears are now).

But he somehow bites his tongue, because he himself had caused the need for these invasions into his body and mind, so he should damn well hold his tongue and nod to anything they plan to do with him.

He says yes to everything she proposes. What else is there to do?

 

 

Very soon, Lois grows weary of merely listening and twiddlding her thumbs. So she scrounges some pen and paper, and a while later a tablet (because she still is _Lois Lane_ and gets things done) and sets to work.

At first, she asks many questions to anyone who happens to be in the same room as her, but she learns the ropes quickly. Her notes are at the same time more and less informative than the reports people write about their sessions with Zod. They contain less facts, because she is not a scientist, but they contain more humanity because she writes for the everyday man.

(She writes for her readers, even though most of them are long dead now.)

(She does not mention the fact that Yin seems to have developed a sort of intellectual crush on Zod. Her notes say »Superman« - _never_ , screams a part of Lois' soul, _never, that name belonged to someone else_ \- and »beautifully adapted to the current living conditions«, and »perfect candidate for the role of apex predator on Earth«)

(Yin had - surprise, surprise – done her graduation thesis on predator adaptations to changes in their native ecosystems.)

Once, in a fit of a profound sense of fuck-it-ness, she sends one of her notes to Swanwick. First thing next morning, there is another behemoth in military fatigues knocks at her door ( _do they grow them in vats?_ Lois wonders) at six-thiry o'clock in the morning, who politely but firmly drags her to a meeting, where she officially informed of her new role: Official minutes keeper for the Phoenix Project.

Lois, never one to mince words at the best of times, says: »Is this a joke?«

Swanwick, somewhat surprised, says, »Not at all, Miss Lane. I get ten to fifteen reports on my desk per day. They are full of numbers, they are written by scientists for scientists and I struggle to put them into a clear context sometimes. Your notes are well done and help me understand the context.«

Lois is flabberghasted, but she recovers quickly. »Well, you've just gotten yourself a minute-keeper, General.«

Swanwick doesn't smile, but the sentiment is there. »That's all, Miss Lane.«

She is furnished no programme or itinerary, so she writes about what she pleases – which is Zod mainly, since the only interesting discoveries happen with him either as a test subject or translator.

Her mind, fractured as it may be, has apparently not forgotten how to write.

Also, Phoenix Project? It seems that graduates of the West Point curriculum still feel compelled to push the Classics in naming projects and operations.

 

 

Hicks appears before Zod one day. The sessions with the (xeno)biologists are immediately over and Zod works once again with Nakamura and Hicks to help iron out a bug/problem in their results.

Every answer begets new questions, so they keep searching the vast database like children looking for a specific grain of sand on an endless beach.

Zod says: »Is there a way for us to seatch the database for specific terms?«

Nakamoto says: »I'll have a word with the IT team. Don't hold out too much hope though.«

They lapse into silence.

»So what does that mean? Careful-lest-forget?«

Zod closes his eyes in frustration. »The last word is derived from _to forget_ , but it means…« He sighs. »When a Kryptonian did something unforgivable, commited a crime so henious that it went against everything our society stood for, then he was… erased from existence. Excommuniated, if you will. Every mention of their existence was erased from public and private records. Speaking of them was forbidden. They simply ceased to exist. With time, the meaning of the word expanded to mean any kind of utter complete disappearance/erasing of a person or idea. That is what the word means. It is a very specific, all-encompassing form of disappearing.«

Nakamoto says: »Oh. _Damnatio memoriae._ «

Hicks frowns and says: »So what does that have to do with quantum physics?«

Nakamoto says, after a while: »Perhaps the process influences causality?«

Then, Hicks is silent. After a while, she says: »Oh. Hm.« and leaves.

Nakamoto and Zod are left looking at one another. Nakamoto's stomach growls and he leaves immediately, presumably in search of food. Zod and Lois are left looking at each other. Lois says: »I could eat.«

Zod nods. »Very well.«

They make for the mess hall and realize it is two in the morning. The kitchen staff manage to whip something up regardless. While they are eating, Hicks suddenly appears out of nowhere by their side. »Was the machine ever used for punishments? Executions?« Lois hastily swallows the half-chewed piece of food in her mouth.

Zod thinks for a moment. »I truly cannot remeber a single execution while I was still alive. What happened outside the public view, however, is another matter entirely to which I was not privy, since our government has removed any military influence from the chain of decision-making.«

Hicks looks momentarily disappointed. »Hm,« is all she says. She is gone in the next moment.

»Do you have any idea what that was about?« Lois asks Zod.

»She is a scientist. Her questions need not be about anything.«

Lois thinks of Hamilton and smiles. Then she thinks of Hardy, the soldiers on the plane, Jenny, Steve, Perry. In the end she thinks of Clark.

Then she thinks: He was right. Not thinking about them would be great disservice.

 

 

One morning, Yin and Hicks knock at Zod’s door. The former is literally bouncing on her feet, the latter only mentally, but they look pleased, exhausted and smug, which is the default state of mind he had associated with scientists.

(It is not really morning. It is three o’clock at night, but he never had much truck with reveille anyway.)

»We have something we would like to show you,« Yin says. She reeks of coffee and Zod thinks she may be vibrating at supersonic speed half an inch above the floor, but he refrains from commenting.

»And we would also like you to test it,« says Hicks.

»Yes, that too,« says Yin.

So he follows them, accompanied by his guard, into a small laboratory. When he enters, he sees a man-sized object with a groove in it that would uncomfortably house someone about his size.

His face apparently betrays his thoughts, because Hicks and Yin begin speaking at the same time.

»It is for measurements only, honest.«

»We will not perform any invasive procedures without informing you first and securing your consent.« The way Hicks rattles off those syllables reminds Zod of children who learned a poem or an oath by heart in school without really understanding it. He raises his eyebrows.

Hicks says, »It is a device we will use to measure your reactions to our environment. It gets very technical and I was involved only in the very first few phases of design and construction, but I assure you, it is a recording device only. If you have any further questions, doctor Yin will be _more than happy_ to answer them.« She pushes Zod into Yin’s general direction, who immediately latches onto his arm and leads him to the object, chattering all the way.

Zod nods and »hmm«s and »mhm«s at what he thinks are the appropriate moments, but he lets her words wash over him like a pleasant tsunami of white noise. Yin buckles him in and starts attaching electrodes and other strange things to his skin. She puts a tube in his mouth, tells him to breathe normally, _lovely,_ thinks Zod, _as if anyone can after hearing those words,_ and then he is strapped to the machine, unable to move, while Yin is out of sight, pressing buttons on a console and yelling out strange requests.

»Kick an imaginary enemy with your left leg. As hard as you can.«

»There are two weights on a table on your left side. Lift the smaller one, please. By holding the handle in your hand.« Zod does as he is told. »Now wrap your little finger around the handle and lift it.« A minute later Yin says, »Mmmm, fascinating. Now the bigger one, again with your little finger, and hold it in the air for as long as you can.« Twenty minutes later Yin says, »Okay, you can put it down now.«

»Take a deep breath and hold it for as long as possible,« and after twenty minutes, »okay, you can breathe out now. Wow.«

»Take a deep breath. As deep as possible. Now breathe out as fast as you can.« _That_ leaves a large hole in a wall, with about twenty soldiers who come running from all directions, arms at the ready. Yin says: »Sorry, my bad,« and the soldiers leave immediately, with an older one saying: »Just let us know when you’re done for today so someone can come and repair the damage.«

Zod is deeply impressed. He wonders idly what else must have happened as a result of Yin’s experiments that a large hole in the wall is considered a normal state of affairs.

Yin is busy making appreciative noises while she is entering the data into her computer. Zod says, »Do you need me any further?« and Yin says, »No, thank you very much,« whereupon Zod says: »Would you mind unstrapping me then?« and Yin does as she is asked. Zod brushes her apologies aside.

And then Yin says: »Would you mind undergoing another biopsy? I would very much like to see the microscopic structure of your muscle and bone tissue. I would hold off on a lung biopsy for now, that would be troubling you too much. Oh, maybe I can talk Nguyen into a few hours on the electron microscope and just maybe I can get first crack at the new sequencing machine they’ve promised us next month. Hm?«

Zod says, »Of course, Doctor Yin. Anything you need,« and she beams at him like a small girl.

The next days are filled with sharp needles and blades and whenever Yin approaches him with an apprehensive expression on her face, he says: »Take whatever you need, Doctor Yin.«

He imagines the biopsies are his penance, stripping away his sins and crimes, cutting all the rotten bits and pieces of Zod the Butcher away until all that will remain will be Zod the Soldier who loved his people and his home, who was honest and honourable and who was aware of the value of any and all life. He knows it is wishful thinking, but he indulges in such daydreams because he has already forgotten what it felt like to be a hero.

Then, nothing. Yin is satisfied with the samples she has and has her team (»My minions,« she had said and cackled) extract all the secrets of Zod's existence from the few slivers of his body. Hicks and Nakamoto (with the help of sundry specialists) slowly work their way through the database with his help. Their progress is slow at first, but then Hicks learns some Kryptonian and Nakamoto learns some planetary ecology, causality physics and advanced spatiotemporal engineering and one day they are finishing each other's sentences. Their speed increases until they are able to finish two or three papers a day.

One day, the finish the last file.

»So what do we do now?« says Nakamoto.

Hicks shrugs and gathers her notes. »We've gone through the available literature, now it's time to duplicate the results.«

Hicks disappears and is only seen sporadically in the mess, where she frantically shovels food in her mouth while staring at the screen in front of her. She always finishes her meal in record time before she is gone again.

Zod waits for the ensuing explosion, but it fails to occur. He eats in the mess with Lois Lane and practices with Nakamoto.

»Can we go over the honorifics and genders again?«

»Certainly. Do you wish to revise them in a certain manner?«

»Yes. I will tell you about the people I know and you will correct me if I am wrong.«

»Very well. I am looking forward to another talk with you.«

His practice with Nakamoto is, despite his initial unease, not boring at all. He learns much during their talks; about Nakamoto, about Japan as it had once been and about humanity in general.

The one day, completely out of the blue he wakes up because he he has trouble breathing. He feels as if a large hand is pressing him into the mattress and squeezing the air out of his lungs. Despite that, he manages to climb out of the bed and carefully stagger to the door, aware that falling down might incur broken bones. Once outside, he sees people on the floor. He bellows: »Do not try to get up unless you have no other choice! Lay down and await further instructions!«

He staggers off to Hicks' laboratory. There is no doubt whatsoever in his mind that the source (and hopefully the solution) to the current problem can be found there.

 

 

Lois wakes up and cannot breathe. After a brief flashback to the day she first felt an extra weight on her shoulders and a panic attack that someone had turned the Earth into a black hole and that everyone would die soon, she slowly climbs off the bed and crawls to the door.

As she crawls to Hicks’ laboratory (as if anyone else could have fubared the situation in such a catastrophic manner), a Marine grabs her leg and says: »Miss Lane, we are not to move until we receive further instructions.«

Lois thinks quickly. No public announcement means Swanwick and his chain of command are dead or indisposed. So no one around to give legitimate orders. So this order had to have come from-

She says: »Well done. Now please let go of my leg, there’s a good boy, I am working on fixing this mess.« The Marine doesn’t let go willingly, but Lois simply takes a knife, cuts off the part of her pant leg the Marine is holding and keeps on crawling. She has to stop several times to catch her breath, but she doesn’t stop. The closer she comes to the lab, the heavier her body feels. When she stops right on front of the half open door, she becomes dizzy, because she is no longer strong enough to breathe on her own. For a brief moment she thinks _small mercies, at least this most likely isn’t a planetwide event_ before she hears Zod’s voice.

»There are two green lights now. One is blinking, the other isn’t. The red light is still on.«

Hick’s voice seems to be coming from a point about level with Lois’ head. »Turn the dial until it hits one. Do not turn it any further and do it slowly, very slowly, if you please, lest something else goes catastrophically wrong.«

Yin’s voice is feeble, but Lois can hear her say: »Mallory, sometimes your way of thinking truly terrifies me.«

An eternity passes but bit by bit, Lois feels comparatively light again. She drags herself into a sitting position and leans on the wall, breathing heavily.

Zod says, still off-screen: »What happened here must be discussed and analysed so it may not happen again. However, first we must ensure the safety of equipment and personnel. If you please, Doctor Hicks, a meticulously detailed report must be compiled.«

Hicks presumably nods or otherwise silently signals her assent, because Lois doesn’t hear anything.

The door opens and Zod steps out. He is visibly surprised to see her and he kneels by her side. »Are you injured or otherwise unwell?«

»No. I’m merely glad to still be alive.« She sees Zod’s eyes dart to the end of the corridor, which leads to most of the personnel of the base. »Go. I’ll be fine, I just need to catch my breath.« Zod almost runs off.

A while later, Hicks appears in the doorway, looking a little mussed, but otherwise none the worse for wear. »Ah, Miss Lane. Would you care to join us for a cup of tea? There is also coffee, if you prefer. And then we would like you to help us write the report General Zod wishes us to compile.«

Lois pulls herself up and says: »Only if there are biscuits. And none of those digestive ones, they taste like crap.«

Yin appears in the doorway with a box in her hands. »I have some Speculaas which-« she checks the bottom »-I’m pretty sure really still ought to be okay.«

Lois had really hoped for chocolate and for something not ages past its best-by date. But she says: »Alright then,« and follows Hicks inside. Hicks’ (or is it Yin’s?) minions are busy cleaning up the lab and/or brewing what smells like coffee in one corner, while one of them is trying to push a large tangle of wires, tubes, circuitry and what Lois can only describe as _pieces of flesh and bone_ unobtrusively into a corner.

A few hours later, Lois is still trying to understand what really happened. She is certain of a few things, though:

1) She still does not understand how the World Engine worked, but that is perfectly okay since it is obvious Hicks and Yin don’t either.

2) Hicks has, for the time being, put the idea of leaving Earth and finding a new home on the back burner and is seeking to reverse the changes wrought upon Earth. Her dedication to Earth’s rebirth is almost manic and Lois becomes somewhat wary of her.

3) Hicks assumes that the World Engine didn’t modify the planets according to a pre-specified algorithm, but that it had been pre-programmed with only one possible course of action.

(Lois doesn’t really see a meaningful difference between the two options, but refrains from commenting. The resulting explanations would only give her a headache.)

4) So, following 3), it ought to be able to build a prototype World Engine of their own which would modify Earth according to a pre-programmed algorithm favouring the conditions ideal for humans.

(Lois admits the first but feels compelled to point out – to herself – that she used the same logic to ask Santa Claus for a pony when she was five. She got a knife and a wilderness survival book.)

5) So, they jury-rigged a primitive World Engine which had been designed to affect things in about a fifty-yard radius (Lois thinks briefly _why not go as small as possible if you’re basically breaking physics?_ ) and synthesized some Kryptonian tissue from Yin’s samples (and, Lois says to herself, broken several national and international laws and conventions) to provide the machine with a baseline and hooked the two up.

6) They thought it would work.

(In their defense, it did, just far better than they expected.)

She also argues that a) the radius was intentionally left as small as possible, so not many people had been affected, b) it demonstrated that the principle behind their reasoning was sound and all it really needs was a little ironing out. However, she also freely admits that c) it was a foolish idea, with the benefit of hindsight. She also d) accepts all responsibility for the fallout.

On her way to her rooms, Lois interviews a few soldiers and scientists. They all tell her the same thing: Zod was everywhere and did everything.

 _A goddamn superhero,_ Lois thinks.

Lois writes all of it down, then types it up and puts the report on Swanwick’s desk while he is washing down strong painkillers through a tiny gap in the bandages around his head. Apparently, he had been walking down the stairs when the machine hit. It hadn’t been pretty (cracked skull, missing three teeth, five cracked vertebrae and four cracked ribs, cracked bones in his right shoulder, broken right radius and left tibia and twisted left ankle) and had he been less fortunate, he probably would have broken his neck. His left leg and right arm are elevated, the leg in a cast, resting on thick books placed on top of his desk, the arm in a half-sling, half-cast propped away from his body. Lois can’t see his face because the bandages are in the way, but she needs little to no imagination to infer from the fire in his eyes that Swanwick is profoundly pissed and severely annoyed with everyone and everything right now.

So she says: »Any questions you may have, you know where to find me, General,« and leaves (flees) before Swanwick can say anything.

The unfortunate incident doesn’t repeat itself, although people take to avoiding Hicks’ lab on principle since many claim they feel much heavier or much lighter while they are passing it. Zod looks in about once a week, if only to make sure Hicks and her team haven’t turned themselves into puddles of human flesh by playing around with gravity.

Lois wheedles the information out of him and writes it down. She understands very little of it, but she gets a vague idea that the World Engine didn’t change the gravity and the atmosphere and heaven knows what else separately, but all together.

Then, in a meeting, Hicks announces that they have gravity sort of figured out and would like to start on the atmosphere. There is a subdued uproar and in the end, Hicks and Yin are relocated (or banished, depending on who Lois asks) to a secondary site in a small crater about twenty miles away to conduct experiments. Zod sort of attaches himself to their group saying that should anything go wrong, he is the only one who can reverse the changes, as demonstrated before.

Lois goes because that is where all the fun will be for the next few weeks.

And boy, is it ever. Suffice it to say that she gets a lot of mileage out of the portable oxygen tank she carries on her person at all times.

And of the gas mask as well. Each time Hicks repeats the spiel about the principles being sound and rushes back to her tent.

She finishes a complimentary letter to the manufacturer of the gas mask before she finds out that they were one of the victims of Zod’s attack. She posts it anyway, figuring what the hell.

She gives up on spending time in the tent and waiting for the experiments to turn interesting. Just as a watched pot never boils, they never do. She usually wakes up in the middle of the night, after she had already put the oxygen mask on her face in her sleep, and staggers to Hicks’ tent to see what the Wonder Girls have cooked up this time. Each time she runs into Zod, who is already there, glaring at Hicks and Yin, both with masks on their faces, trying to reverse the damage.

Her behavior isn’t logical, rational or even sane. It is an unusual mix of morbid curiosity, horrified fascination and at time, supreme indifference to everything. She mentally acknowledges the fact and moves on to more pressing matters.

Several times she hears raised voices from Hicks’ tent which always culminate in Zod storming out, face impassive, eyes blazing. Lois asks around and is told that Zod and Hicks disagree about the nature of the experiments performed, as well as the leaps and shortcuts she is taking.

While they are eating dinner in her tent one evening, Zod says, completely out of the blue, »She believes that simply because she is the most experienced scientist currently alive she has automatically become the wisest and best. She wishes to bypass certain aspects of scientific enquiry because she believes they are not necessary. Even I know she is wrong. Jor-El would have many strong words to say about that.«

Lois says nothing for a while. If Zod’s neutral expression is one of permanent displeasure, he looks downright murderous right now. »Talking to her doesn’t help, I assume?«

Zod says: »No, no. One does not talk _to_ her anymore, one talks _through_ her. Unless it is the language of science, which I sometimes struggle to understand, let alone speak.« Lois opens her mouth to speak and closes it again when Zod spits out: »Foolish. _Foolish_. Just as the Council up until the very end. And only when it is too late does everyone readily admit they were wrong and gladly flagellate themselves, rather than listening to reason before-« Zod chokes and closes his eyes. After several long moments, he covers his face with his hands and whispers a sentence in Kryptonian, in the same guttural voice which he used when speaking in his mother's accent. He repeats it over and over again for what seems to Lois to be ten minutes, then he lowers his hands and looks at her.

He looks weary and old, like someone who has lived for far too long. The words he says next are measured and spoken in a soft voice. »It is difficult for me to see your people make the same mistakes as we have made. I do not wish upon you the fate that Krypton has suffered. I do not wish death upon you, or the knowledge that you are the last one of your kind. That all that was, all that is and all that one day may have been will die with you.«

Lois says nothing. She feels silence is the best response to such words. After a while, however, she cannot restrain her curiosity and asks: »May I ask what your words meant? Were they a prayer?«

Zod’s face becomes softer somehow, lighter. After several moments he says: »Before I began training with the Guild, I was raised at home by my mother. She taught me to say _I am grateful I can still smile_ whenever darkness threatened to overwhelm me. She taught me to focus my thoughts in times of need and it has saved my life many times over.« Zod gently runs his fingers along the uneven surface of the plastic table, much as a grateful son would caress his mother’s cheek.

»Can you?« The words are out of Lois’ mouth before she can stop them.

For the first time since they left his town, Zod smiles. »Of course, Miss Lane. I am grateful I have finally found my place in the world again.«

They sit companionably until late in the night. Then, out of the blue, Lois says: »If you have such doubts about her, you need to tell Swanwick, Zod. We are all desperate to have Earth back, but it won’t do us any good if we die along the way.«

Zod nods just as Lois yawns, unable to hold it back any longer. He says: »I will. You ought to rest now. Thank you for the company, miss Lane.«

Then, early one morning, Zod is by her bed, shaking her and saying: »We’re moving back to the base. Quickly now.« Lois recognizes his tone of voice and grabs the oxygen, mask and her tablet, leaving everything else behind. As they exit the tent, Lois sees another dozen or so people waiting outside, along with several soldiers armed to the teeth, who leave the camp with them.

Zod’s pace is swift, but not punishing and Lois makes use of the oxygen so as not to fall behind. While they are walking, Zod explains the situation.

He had spoken with Swanwick and explained, in very few words, what was going on. Swanwick was easily convinced – _probably helped along by the broken bones,_ thinks Lois – and agreed to interrupt the experiments for the time being. When Hicks was informed, she went ballistic and refused to obey. Since she is a civilian on loan from a foreign government, just as three quarters of the scientists and about ninety percent of the equipment, Swanwick’s hands are tied. Everyone who wants to leave, is welcome at the base, everyone who wants to stay, can stay. Hicks is currently in her tent, doing something that makes strange noises and Zod is not taking any more chances.

Just as they are on the edge of the crater, they hear cries and turn around. It is Yin, limping towards them as fast as she can, oxygen mask pressed to her face. Zod pushes Lois forward, says: »Go towards the base. Do not stop. We will catch up with you,« and turns back.

True to his word, he catches up with them not ten minutes later, carrying Yin in his arms, whose ankle is twisted to an unnatural degree. They are out of the crater now, which prompts Lois to say: »We’re out of range now. Shouldn’t we stop?« and by saying: »Are you really willing to take that chance?« Zod makes everyone walk just that little bit faster.

Soon, there is not an explosion, but an implosion, from the look of it, because suddenly there is a strong wind blowing into their faces. Zod says: »It ought to die away any time now,« and when it doesn’t, puts Yin on the ground, commandeers a mask and some oxygen and runs like hell back to the camp. Lois follows him to the edge of the crater and sees people lying on the ground, some in the camp some who had, by the look of it, tried to escape. She doesn’t get any further because she gets dizzy and nauseous and because the air pressure has gone haywire. One ear wants to pop, the other feels like it is under five hundred feet of water.

She sees Zod move to Hicks’ tent, every movement a little bit slower until he disappears inside. He doesn’t come out. So Lois follows him, terrified out of her mind, moving disgustingly slowly, it seems to her, with the oxygen turned up all the way. The wind ends up actually helping her, because it blows in the exact same direction where she wants to go. The sound Zod had mentioned becomes audible to her too, through the hiss of the escaping oxygen, a rhythmic thumping sound that is every once in a while interrupted by a horrifying and otherworldly screech. She takes two other tanks from the people (corpses?) along the way, just to make sure she has enough, until she comes to a stop before Hicks’s tent, on her hands and knees, because standing is no longer an option, and feels something running down the left side of the neck.

It is blood and predictably, she can no longer hear anything on her left ear, though she feels the thumps and also the screeches with terrifying acuteness. Her eyes hurt and her lungs feel like they are about to burst out of her chest. She opens the tent flap and looks inside while she discards her own oxygen tank and cracks open the next one.

Zod is a few feet before her, lying prone on the ground. She makes as wide a circle around him as possible, figuring that whatever conditions exist in his hopefully small bubble would surely kill her instantly. She slowly approaches what she assumes to be the control panel, draws herself up, collapses and then tries again. She has no idea which buttons to push, which levers to operate, because the machine is a mishmash of many different parts and tools and coated in flesh, skin and bone, all horrifying, incomprehensible and unfathomable to her. Then she sees a thick cable running from the panel to somewhere outside the tent, where she knows the generator is, and she has an idea.

She looks around and sees nothing sharp until she spies a breadknife on a shelf nearby. She doesn’t even try to walk to it, she merely crawls to it, tips it over, grabs the knife from the ground, all in slow motion, and then begins sawing the cable. She has to crack open her last oxygen bottle, but in the end the machine sputters and dies and the air is rushing back where it belongs.

The screeching though doesn’t stop immediately. And as Lois cranes her head to look at the machine more closely, she sees that the flesh is actively moving. The movements are almost invisible, but once seen, they cannot be unseen. Hicks had grafted _living flesh she obtained from Zod’s samples_ onto their machine to make it work. The screeches die off slowly and the movements become at first erratic and then disappear altogether.

Lois closes her eyes, exhausted. She is too tired to be horrified or enraged. She only wants to sleep.

Possibly forever.


	6. The butcher and the lamb

She comes to in the infirmary, with Zod reading a tablet at her side. He looks up a while later and says: »Good morning. How do you feel?«

Lois has a splitting headache, a stabbing pain in her left side (and a slight feeling of breathlessness), an empty stomach and still can't hear in her left ear. So she replies: »Wonderful. When will a doctor see me?«

Zod says, »The afternoon rounds are between five and six in the afternoon. It is three PM now. Do you need medical attention right away?«

So Lois says: »My left eardrum is ruptured and I think I have a pneumothorax on my left side.«

Zod nods and with: »A doctor will be here in a moment,« he is gone.

The doctor, a painfully young thing, examines her and diagnoses a traumatic rupture of the eardrum necessitating a procedure called fat tympanoplasty (which is scheduled in a few days) and a traumatic pneumothorax. She inserts a chest tube immediately, connects it to a box with water in it, gives Lois instructions on how to avoid pissing off the doctors and nurses by accidentally pulling the tube out and rushes off.

Zod, who had been shooed out by the nurse during the procedure, reappears. »On Krypton, I have always worried that whenever a healer would treat me, they would sample me until there was nothing of me left. Your healers have the exact opposite approach, it seems.« His eyes crinkle a bit and his mouth turns slightly upwars, which Lois takes to mean anyone else would be rolling on the floor laughing at their own joke.

Lois refuses to comment. Instead she says: »What are you reading?«

Zod sits down, brandishes the tablet and says: »Nakamoto was kind enough to copy some of our books from the database to this tablet. I am rereading some of the classics from my past. I am very grateful for the fact that some of them escaped destruction.«

Lois tries to imagine a life without being able to ever experience Dickens, Bach, Led Zeppelin, Dali or Kubrick again. She finds it impossible to imagine, her mind rebels at the thought. So she says: »Did you have music on Krypton?«

Zod seems somewhat taken aback by her question and takes some time to answer: »Yes, of course. We had many different ways of expressing ourselves. Music was merely one of them.«

»So do you have any music on that tablet of yours?« Lois asks.»I would love to hear some.«

It takes Zod about five minutes to find a suitably epic piece of music to introduce to Lois. It is a hauntingly simple piece, with a repeating motif, while a clear, lovely voice sings of loss and grief.

The song is called _A Mother's Lament_. Lois is duly impressed. So she asks to hear another song and another, and another, while Zod explains the background and story of each one.

They stay up until well past midnight until a nurse shoos Zod to his quarters. The last thing he says to Lois that night is: »Would you mind if I visited you tomorrow?«

The answer is: »Not at all. If you promise to read to me, just a little bit, one of your stories.«

He nods. »Agreed. Good night, Miss Lane.«

The next day, he comes to see her in the evening. He sits by her side and explains the background of the story he will read to her, which is called _I must take flight_.

He reads it, at Lois' request, in his mother's dialect. The guttural sounds and the flowing vowels wash over her as she imagines meaning from sounds she does not recognize and ultimately decides that the story will, according to her, have a happy ending.

Two hours later, Zod speaks the final sentence, quitely and almost reverently, and looks at her.

»Oh. Over so soon?«

»I am afraid so,« says Zod. »I imagined you would be exhausted when I arrived. I chose a short story, so that even if you fell asleep, you would most likely have heard its conclusion. I have always found it very vexing if I could not follow a story to its ending. It left me feeling…« Zod pauses while he searches for the right expression, »cheated.«

There is a companionable silence that stretches itself out. Lois than says, »Could you tell me what the last sentence meant?«

Zod says: » _I must take flight lest my heart tear itself apart_.«

They say nothing more that evening. An indeterminate amount of time later, Zod gently squeezes Lois' hand and is gone.

That night, Lois dreams of flying on old Earth. She wakes up ecstatic and then has a brief moment of despair when reality reasserts itself. During the rounds, she badgers the doctor into discharging her by saying that going back to work would be beneficial to her convalescence and waits smugly for Zod, who after rasing a sceptic eyebrow says nothing. He agrees that work would improve Lois' psychological recovery and reminds her that accidentally pulling her chest tube out by snagging it on a doorknob or anything else would not benefit her physical recovery at all.

Lois agrees and with that, they are done. She carts the water box (or fish tank, as she lovingly calls it) everywhere for the next few days, until she returns for a check-up and the tympanoplasty. The x-ray shows that the pneumothorax has almost disappeared and the doctor, called Gulbenkian, removes the tube with the assistance of a nurse. The tympanoplasty is over quickly and doesn't hurt much. The next check-up is scheduled two weeks, with strict instructions that Lois is to return immediately if she has any problems. Zod walks her to her quarters.

»Hicks' projects seems to have died a swift death,« Lois says as she sits down on the bed. She motions for Zod to sit down and he pulls up a chair.

»Well, with her dead I suppose it was only to be expected. Yin is very careful not to draw attention to herself at the moment,« Zod says.

»Keeping her head down is exactly what she should do right now,« Lois says. »Would you like some tea?« She stands up and walks to the water heater. »I am having some myself.«

Zod nods. »Yes, if you please.«

»Do you believe that the project is over then?« Lois asks as she takes out two cups, both chipped, both faded with time and turns on the water heater.

Zod takes a while to answer. »Paused for a while, certainly. General Swanwick was horrified when he saw the engine Hicks had constructed. He took Doctor Yin to task for not informing him that such an quote unquote abomination had been created without his knowledge or permission.«

Lois is curious for a brief insight into Swanwick's mind, so she says: »Did he say what his main objection was?« She gives Zod a cup and says: »Wait for a few minutes for the tea to develop its flavour. Also, it's hot.«

»Thank you.« Zod smells the tea and smiles. Then he turns serious. »He had many objections, first and foremost being that people were needlessly endangered with no particular purpose other than obtaining data. He also took issue with the fact that living tissue had been grafted to the engine, tissue that could potentially feel pain and discomfort. And lastly, he disapproved that my samples had been used for this purpose without my permission.«

 _Huh_ , thinks Lois. _Looks like I severely misjudged him._ She takes a sip from the cup, because she has to do something else besides feel like an idiot, burns her tongue but says nothing.

»But to return to your original question,« says Zod, »the project is far from over, in my opinion. There will be a lull for people to learn from their mistakes and then a period of renewed activity during which they will make new ones.«

»Hm,« says Lois and refrains from commenting further. She drinks her tea.

 

 

Zod is eating breakfast when Yin timidly approaches him and sits down at his table. She looks thinner and less enthusiastic. She also doesn't gush about her proposal. She says: »I would like to run a few tests with you. They are nothing like I have done before or what…« she pauses, »Mallory Hicks has done. I would simply like to connect a few electrodes to your scalp and your skin and input the measurements into a program.«

Zod says: »Of course, Doctor Yin. Anything you need I will gladly provide.«

Yin stays put and doesn't say anything for a minute or so. Then, she says: »I have allowed myself to break some very important rules because I thought I was right and that others were wrong. I also trusted someone because of their reputation against my better judgment. People have died because of my actions. So please, do not simply acquiesce immediately but think about my proposal. Ask me questions. Criticise or refuse if there is something you don't like. It is your body and your will we are talking about. You are not a lab rat.« She doesn't look Zod in the eye at all.

So Zod says: »I will think about it and let you know tomorrow, Doctor Yin.«

Yin nods and leaves. Her quiet »Thank you« sounds like an afterthought. She hobbles away with the aid of a cane, her ankle still wrapped in plaster.

Zod makes to finish off his plate, but finds he is no longer hungry.

The next day, Zod goes to Yin's lab (which is just Hicks' lab with Hicks' name tag removed) to talk. Yin waves him over to a chair in a corner and says: »Two minutes. Tea or coffee?«

Zod's answer is, of course, tea. One minute and forty-five seconds later Yin appears with two cups in her hand, pushes one over to Zod and says: »Wait for a few minutes for the tea to develop its flavour. Also, it's hot.«

For a brief moment Zod wonders if humans are programmed to say that whenever they are handling hot beverages, but then he decides they do it because he is an alien and therefore, according to their logic, unfamilliar with tea.

»Have you thought about my proposal?« asks Yin.

»Yes, I have,« says Zod. »Could you tell me more about how you intend to proceed?«

»Well,« says Yin, »we would attach electrodes to you,« she stands up and fetches one from a nearby table and hands it to Zod, »like this, and then I would take measurements.«

The electrode in his hand feels very cold. He peels off the plastic covering and finds that the electrode sticks to the fingers of his right hand. He pulls it off with his left hand and finds it sticks to his left palm instead. He unobtrusively wipes the electrode off on his trouses, thinking he can wrestle with it more successfully in the privacy of his room.

Zod thinks very hard about what other questions he should ask. After two minutes he ecstatically thinks of another one: »Will you be just taking measurements or will you actively try to change my body or the environment?«

Yin shakes her head vigorously. »It will be simple measurements only. The electrodes on your scalp will hopefully measure how you percieve the environment versus how you want/expect it to be. The electrodes on your muscles, your bones, lung and heart should do the same.«

Zod frowns. »And what do you hope to achieve by that?«

»Your measurements themselves will have no intrinsic value in and of themselves. They will however be useful when I compare them to human measurements. I have a theory I want to prove. But before I start making any changes to anyone or anything, I want to be damn sure of what I'm doing.«

»And what is that theory?« asks Zod.

Yin opens her moth to answer, then hesitates. »I believe that the World Engines were not exclusively inorganic. There had to be a living sentient component which told it _how_ to reshape the world.«

Zod thinks for a while. Then, he says: »And Doctor Hicks' experiments went wrong because…«

»The flesh we grafted onto the machine wasn't sentient. Among other things. We also didn't verify a few very important measurements, which led us to jump to incorrect conclusions about the effect of the machine we built.«

Zod notices with approval Yin' use of the plural, but decides not to comment upon it, reasoning it would only make her nervous. »I find this very interesting. Tell me more, Doctor Yin, if you please, but remember that I am not a scientist.«

Yin excuses herself and fetches paper and a pen from another table. She also has someone brew them more tea. »Our machine, our first World Engine, if you wish to call it that, was meant to take data from your flesh and use it to change the conditions on Earth to fit its needs.«

Zod waves his hand. »Yes, but if you wanted Earth-like conditions as baseline, shouldn't you have used flesh from someone who was born on Earth? Such as everyone else on this planet but me?«

Yin says: »We did. We never got past the stage where we tried to graft it onto the machine. It appears the oxygen levels were too low for it to survive. We tried supplemental oxygen, we tried suspending it in a nutrient solution, supersaturated with oxygen, we tried a lot of things but the tissue died no matter what we did.«

Zod says: »Hm.« He also says: »I see.«

Yin draws a circle of arrows on the paper. »I think the relationship between the machine and the sentient component was a feedback loop. The machine changed the environment and then the sentient component offered feedback whether the change was acceptable or not. If the change was acceptable, the machine would continue operating as before, if not, it would select another approach.«

Zod says: »Is that why the gravity increased and the air thinned?«

Yin nods approvingly. »Yes, exactly. The machine was trying to recreate the conditions that your body would have experienced as normal.«

»But the conditions for me were not normal. The gravity was al least fifty percent stronger than on Krypton. And the air around the machine when it malfunctioned was practically not existant.«

Yin nods. »Most likely because the flesh wasn't sentient so it couldn't complete the negative feedback loop.«

Zod thinks it over. »I see. Hm. That does make sense. So tell me again, what would you do with me?«

Yin speaks and while she does so, she uses her hands and fingers to explain. »I would like to repeat the same measurements as before, but this time I will search for how your body functioned on Earth before everything changed. If we can somehow find the conditions that allowed you to fly, among other things, maybe we will be able to learn more about how to change our Earth back.«

Zod nods and says: »Very well, I am satisfied with the anwers you have given me. When can we begin?«

Yin says: »Anytime you want. Tommorow morning at about seven would be okay for you?«

Zod says: »Yes. «

He does not ask her how she knew he had flown, because it had happened where no one could have possibly seen him. He assumes she knew because in her mind, everyone who could fly had done so the moment they set foot on Earth.

 

The next day at seven o’clock, Zod is in Yin’s lab having various bits and pieces of metal and plastic attached to his body. Yin proceeds slowly and carefully, double checking each connection and every output on her computer.

They start at half past eight.

Yin says: »Do you remember what it felt like to fly?«

Zod thinks for a while. He can remember the joy he felt when he was no longer bound to the ground, but the feeling of simultaneously having no weight and the same weight as always eluded him. »No. I can remember I felt different than before, but I cannot remember how exactly. It is the same as remembering what it feels like to swim. I _think_ I remember what it felt like the last time I jumped into the sea, but nothing prepares me for the feeling of water touching every inch of my skin.«

Yin smiles and says: »Nicely put.« She taps a few buttons. »Did you ever have literary aspirations, General?«

»No. I preferred to leave the outpouring of maudlin emotions to members of the Artists’ Guild. They did it much more efficiently.«

Yin snorts as she taps away on her computer. There is a companionable silence that lasts for a few minutes.

Lois comes in, grabs a chair and steadies her tablet on her knees. »Did I miss anything important?«

»General Zod seems to have a low opinion of writers,« Yin says as she taps the last sequence out with a flourish, »Makes me wonder how the two of you didn’t kill each other.«

Lois says: »What makes you think we haven’t tried?«

There is an awkward silence until Lois laughs, a brief »ah-ha-ha« followed by a forced giggle from Yin. Zod schools his face to reveal nothing, though he dearly wishes to roll his eyes.

Yin the says: »Okay, I would like to try something else. Could you think very very hard about moving your left thumb? «

Zod does as he’s asked. Yin then walks to him and adjusts several electrodes on his head. »That’s better.« She walks back to her console and says: »Again.«

The console beeps and Yin claps her hands. »Oh, lovely!« She then walks to Zod, balancing her laptop in one hand and touches his left thumb, first gently, then firmly grasps it. There are two corresponding beeps, the second stronger than the first. She walks back to her console , grinning widely. »Okay,« she says, »now think as hard as you can about how it felt like to fly. Until you can feel the gravity letting go of your body. Until you feel the wind against your skin. Take your time.«

So Zod tries to do as he is told, but it is in vain. He manages two faint blips, otherwise Yin’s computer stays silent. However, in contrast to the scientists on Krypton (even Jor-El, on occasion), Yin doesn’t lose her temper when things do not go as planned. After Lois’ stomach rumbles for the fifth time in a row (though Lois seems not to have noticed her hunger), Yin powers her laptop down and says: »If we continue, we will accomplish absolutely nothing. It’s time for lunch. We will meet in this lab again at 4 pm. If you hurry, there might be some chocolate chip cookies left.«

Lois perks up at the mention of chocolate and is gone before Yin removes the first electrode from Zod. He finds her in the mess, her left hand hovering close to four large cookies stacked one on top of another in the corner of her tray, the other hand mechanically shoveling food into her mouth. She looks up at him as he sits down facing her and says: »You may have one, if you want. Only one.«

Zod nods. »Thank you,« is all he says before he tucks into his lunch with relish. After he is done, he says, »It may be merely wishful thinking, but I think the quality of the food has improved markedly in the last few weeks.«

Lois, who is only halfway through her stew, pauses and then slowly tastes a spoonful. After she has swallowed, she says, »You are right. It _is_ better. I wonder why.«

»A new cook perhaps? I do remember seeing several new faces lately,« Zod says.

Lois finishes her stew and takes the top cookie while handing the second one to Zod. They both eat slowly, relishing the taste. Lois suppresses a small moan which still escapes, causing Zod to raise his eyebrow. »This is really good.«

»Yes. I would even go so far as to describe it as excellent.« Zod breaks the cookie into two and smiles faintly. »We did not have chocolate on Krypton. But there was something with a similar taste, only it was not as sweet and more bitter. My upbringing was Spartan at the behest of my father, but each year on my birthday, my mother would bake me a small Rainbow Cake and flavor it with small pieces of our chocolate. On my seventh birthday, I was admitted into the Guild and-« Zod smiles again »-understandably, I could not choose the food that was put in front of me. But I would think of her often. And every time I would taste sweet bitterness on my tongue.« Zod puts the last piece of the cookie in his mouth and closes his eyes ecstatically.

Lois’ tongue is stuck in her mouth. Although her rage and thirst for vengeance have long since burnt themselves out, she had, up until now, not thought about Zod as someone who had, just like her, had a mother who loved him. Cursing her decency and convinced that she would come to regret it in some way, she takes another cookie and places it on Zod’s tray. »Here. Another one is just about enough for me. If you want to.«

Zod’s face lights up as he smiles. »Thank you, Miss Lane.« He takes a big bite out of the cookie and eats the rest of it with such enthusiasm that Lois is tempted to give him the last one. Only tempted, though. It _is_ chocolate, after all.

On their way back to the lab, Lois ventures a comment apropos of absolutely nothing. »Many women eat chocolate as a way of coping with heartbreak and sadness.«

Zod is silent for a while, nodding to himself. »I had heard something to that effect several times. I find it hard to disagree with the logic.« They enter Yin’s lab (where she is already waiting for them, two empty Cup Noodles containers discarded to one side) and Zod says: »And in this day and age, I believe heartbreak and sadness are unfortunately very common.« He nods at Yin who straps him into the machine and attaches the electrodes.

And they begin anew. The tests are tedious and repetitive and last for days and are filled with »Try as hard as you can to remember how you flew-« »It is more like hovering agressively-« »-hovered aggressively above the ground.«

Eight days later, out of the blue, Zod suddenly finds himself in Antarctica, inside the ancient Kryptonian ship. The last traces of Jor-El’s programme have been wiped out of the ship’s memory and he walks out for a breath of fresh air and to banish the lingering voice in his head that claims he has killed his best friend for a second time. He deliberately removes his helmet and immediately falls to his knees, because the sights, sounds and smells of this world are overwhelming him. But he closes his eyes, thinks of his mother smiling and repeats the words she has taught him so long ago. Bit by bit, the outside world recedes and he is, once again, able to _choose_ his own reality. He tosses his armour off disdainfully and flexes muscles _he hadn’t had a moment before_ and before he knows it, he is hovering a few feet above the ground-

He hears a clang and is back in Yin’s lab. Yin is nowhere to be seen and Lois is staring at the steel door, which has been shut.

»What happened?« says Zod.

Lois looks at him as if she had only know remembered his existence. »I honestly… don’t know. One moment Yin was looking at the screen and then suddenly she started gabbling in Mandarin. She ran out a few moments ago. My guess is something went very right or very wrong.« Lois turns back to typing on her tablet.

Zod says: »Hm.« He also says: »Is she likely to come back anytime soon?«

Lois doesn’t look at him as she answers: »I don’t think so.«

Zod waits for another few moments, then, realizing Lois has probably forgotten about him, says: »Would you mind unstrapping me then?«

Lois looks up and says: »Yes, of course.« She unstraps him and removes almost all of the electrodes and the few she forgets come off anyway when Zod climbs out of the machine.

»Well,« says Zod, »this has been a most edifying experience for some of us, I expect. Will you stay here to work?«

»No,« says Lois, as she finishes typing and switches her tablet off, »all done.« She stands up and says: »I’ll go outside and stretch my legs for a bit. Will you join me?«

Zod stretches until his pine pops. »Thank you, but I must decline. I ought to exercise. My spine has been giving me trouble these past few days.«

»With the way you’ve been spending your days, it’s no wonder, really.«

»Indeed.«

»Perhaps you should ask Yin to add some pillows for padding.«

»Perhaps.« Zod nods at her and says: »Have a pleasant walk, Miss Lane. I will see you tomorrow morning.«

»See you, Zod.«

 

Next morning Yin apologizes for storming out, but says she had been very excited by the results.

»Good results or bad results?« says Lois.

»Good. Very good. This does not mean that our work is done, far from it. But I have managed to find another one of the pieces in the puzzle.« Yin grins. »If we continue like that, perhaps in a few years I can ask the General for permission to build another World Engine. I will need a good engineer though,« Yin says and pulls a small notepad out of her pocket and scribbles in it with a pen. Then she looks at Zod, smiles brightly and says: »Well, General, ready for another round of tests?«

In order to improve the performance of the machine, Yin (with Zod’s permission, which she asks repeatedly) shaves Zod’s head for better contact with the electrodes.

Zod also urges her to insert a probe into his inner ear to monitor his response to the gravity. Yin balks, but relents after a few days.

 

And so it goes for six months, whereupon Lois walks by Swanwick’s office one evening and hears raised voices. One is Yin, the other Swanwick, and there is one she barely recognizes as Swanwick’s second-in-command, advocating calm.

Lois is no fool. She turns on her heels and walks away very fast, because she knows very well how these discussions usually end. Her talk with Swanwick will have to wait.

Next morning, Lois comes into the lab and finds the machine inside another, larger one. While the base of the second machine is made almost exclusively of motherboards, ventilators and other paraphernalia; the top looks like a fractal cube (she googles it and comes up with Menger sponge). The inner part of the cube is the part where Zod’s head would be. (Lois takes a closer look at it and gauges that most likely it would be the part between Zod’s chin and eyebrows.)

She nods at Zod, who is helping pump the air out of the part surrounding the sponge. Then she turns to Yin, who is fiddling around with her laptop, tapping keys and listening intently to beeps, and says: »Good morning, Doctor Yin. Another attempt at terraforming, is it?«

»Yes, only no, not really,« says Yin. »you see, we will try to adjust the gravity in a small volume of space, a cube with sides just under ten centimetres long. I am-« Yin looks as if the next words out of her mouth pain her »-reasonably certain nothing will go wrong this time.«

Lois swallows the myriad of pithy comments she could make at this moment, and sits down on her chair. She switches her tablet on and begins typing. She says: »Can you tell me a bit more about how you plan to do this?«

»Erm,« says Yin, »not really. The other machine is set so that it changes the conditions in only a very small volume of spacetime, that’s all I know. Uh, you should really ask Doctors Bomani and Olafsson. The first one is a physicist, the other an engineer. I’m only a biologist with a very rudimentary knowledge of information technology.«

»I see,« says Lois. She writes _Bomani_ _&_ _Olafsson?_ and then says: »What about the oxygen?«

»Erm,« says Yin, »one thing at a time, Miss Lane.«

»Hm,« says Lois and writes _make sure they don’t forget about the oxygen_.

Half an hour later, Yin says, »Places, people,« and claps her hands. She walks over to Zod and says: »Just like that last time, with feeling, okay?« and winks at him. When she is behind her laptop, she says: »Anytime you’re ready, General.«

So Zod closes his eyes and soon enough, he is floating above the snow, with the cold wind ruffling his hair. He faintly hears Yin say: »Okay, this is perfect, General, keep it up,« and then her voice disappears completely.

Meanwhile Lois is listening intently to the chatter of the scientists manning the other machine. They are dropping metal balls through the top opening of the sponge and measuring the speed with which the ball falls. All of them are getting more and more excited.

»0,18693 seconds-«

»Which means that for the second half, the ball fell slower-« Followed by cheers, then:

»Quiet! The g inside the cube is 10,71 metres per square second.« Another round of cheers, then:

»Okay, another one.«

»0,23449 seconds-«

»Okay, we went too far-«

»G equals 4,81 meters per square second-«

»Like I said, we went too far-«

»Okay, people, _one at a time_ -«

»Can I roll another one?«

»Hold it, not done yet,« followed by furious tapping, then: »Okay, go.«

»No, stop.« Yin’s voice rings out loud and clear. She walks over to Zod and taps on the plexiglass wall until he opens his eyes. »Can you continue, General?«

Zod nods. »Without any problems, Doctor. At least half an hour.«

Yin looks dissatisfied with the answer and says: »How did the change of gravity affect you?«

Zod says: »It was a strange feeling, as if my heartbeat was out of sync with the beat of the the blood in my head. But it was not unpleasant, painful or distracting. I am perfectly well, Doctor Yin.«

Yin smiles. »Good. Anytime you feel you need a break, please tell me.«

And so they spend an entire day, minus three extended breaks during which Zod meditates and Lois brings her notes into order. At about midnight, when someone says: »0,19127 seconds-« there is a loud cheer, loud enough to wake the dead and Lois nearly falls off her chair where she had dozed off for a second or two.

»9,81 meters per second squared-«

»Oh, sweet, sweet normalcy-«

»We’re not home and dry yet, we need some fine-tuning-«

»Which can be done tomorrow.« Yin claps her laptop shut and says: »Enough work has been done for today. It is past midnight and all work and no sleep make Doctor Yin very bad-tempered.« She turns to Zod. »I don’t think we will need your help tomorrow, General. You should take the opportunity to relax.«

Zod nods as the machine is being disassembeled around him. »Nevertheless, should you need me, I will most likely be in my room. Good night, Doctor Yin.«

»Good night, General, Miss Lane.«

Of course, at ten o’clock the next day, Yin knocks on Zod’s door and admits the machine won’t work without him. He fetches Lois from her room and soon he is strapped into the machine again with Yin calling out encouraging phrases on the rare occasions when his concentration slips. When the day is over, the machine is as fine-tuned as can be expected. Yin disbands the group. She says that everyone will be contacted as soon as the machine is configured to change the atmosphere composition in favour of oxygen.

 

 

Three months later, they repeat the exercise. The feedback loop isn’t stable enough, so Zod receives an implant into his subclavian artery, which goes straight to his brain and monitors the response of the oxygen receptors in his carotid arteries and in his aorta.

Lois says: »What about blood clots?«

Zod says: »I receive subcutaneous injections to thin my blood.« When Lois looks skeptical, he offers: »The needles need to be very sharp to even pierce my skin.«

When they are firmly certain they have got things right, they shut the machine off and put algae into the cube, then worms and at the end a mouse; all of which survive. Thrive, even.

Zod doesn’t enjoy the mouse’s tail tickling his nose, but he says nothing. He does sneeze once after he has already climbed out of the machine and manages to turn his head away just in time.)

Second step is making the cube progressively larger. Everything works fine when the cube is a metre to the side (though it takes them another two months to work out how to fine-tune it), but then it stops at two and a half metres. No matter what they do, the effects are at best fleeting and at worst not even measurable.

 

Then one night at half past two in the morning, Zod is woken up by a loud noise in the hallways. He runs out of the room and sees Bomani running through a faraway corridor, yelling and sounding the air horn.

Zod sees a guard nonchalantly strolling down the corridor next to his room. The guard nods at him and says: »Nothing to worry about, sir. It just means there’s been a significant breakthrough. In fact, if Doctor Bomani doesn’t do it every now and then, something is sure to go very wrong.«

»I see,« says Zod. »Thank you for the information.«

»Good night, sir,« says the guard and continues his rounds.

Zod crawls back into bed, then laughs loudly for the first time in a long while when he remembers _Jor-El naked (save for a strategically positioned strip of cloth which Zod was certain would be blown away immediately and a large hat made of strange things balanced on top of his head) running around the streets of Kryptonopolis shouting “I am a snagriff tall and proud; my wings are silent, my roar is loud!” at the top of his voice. It had been done on a dare and Zod had never laughed so much in his life._

_The day after, Jor-El had been threatened with severe disciplinary action by his Guild. He had wriggled out of it most elegantly – by claiming it had been a sociological experiment in how people deal with extraordinary sights. He had pointed out that a high-ranking member of the Military Guild had been present to help with the evaluation of data. Naturally, Zod had been forced to attend the hearing, privately swearing retribution to Jor-El._

_»Pray tell, Jor-El,« said one of the Guild Council members, an old, wizened woman who kept throwing Zod dirty looks all through the hearing (he presumed because she suspected him of corrupting saintly, angelic Jor-El. If only she knew), »this high-ranking member military of the Military Guild, was he not seen laughing so hard he had to sit down on the ground?«_

_The heads of all those present at the hearing had swiveled in Zod’s direction. He did not squirm or flinch. His training had been thorough. He drew himself proudly and leveled a haughty look at the audience. Disappointed that no amusement would be forthcoming from the soldier, they turned their attention back to the accused._

_»As were most people who witnessed the… sight, my Lady.« Jor-El’s voice was gentle, but Zod could distinctly hear the mocking tone._

_»And what exactly did your… experiment contribute to our vast pool of knowledge, Jor-El?« asks another member of the council, even older than the woman, if it were possible. Zod doesn’t roll his eyes. He promised himself he would do it several times once safely inside the privacy of his own quarters._

_»The knowledge of how much we have grown, as a race, as a culture, as a people. Kryptonians do not fear that which is different, but are delighted and amused by it.« Jor-El smiled softly. »Well, those who remember what it feels to be young, at any rate.« There was a hushed, horrified gasp from the audience which left Jor-El untouched as he continued: »Were there ever to be a contact with something different and surprising, I am certain that we would react with delight and amusement and not fear and suspicion.«_

_Zod had disagreed with Jor-El’s assessment of Kryptonian nature in the privacy of his own mind. He never spoke of it to his friend, for he already knew how the discussion would end._

_Jor-El had been let off with no more than a symbolic slap on the wrist after that and had dragged Zod to the nearest tavern to celebrate. Later that night, Zod had struggled to bring him to the Guild dormitory as silently as possible, while clamping Jor-El’s mouth shut with one hand. He then realized that as befitted a student in the last cycle of his studies, Jor-El’s room was on the highest floor. Whereupon he immediately changed his plans, banged on the nearest door and thrust the half-comatose Jor-El into the arms of the unsuspecting victim, saying: »His name is Jor-El. When he wakes up tomorrow he will be very ill. Have a bucket ready,« and beating a strategic retreat before the victim could comprehend what had happened._

 

They mount the machine upside down and hang it from the ceiling of a large warehouse and put Zod’s cage on the very top. Underneath the warehouse they build another smaller machine to feed the results back to the World Engine. It still takes seven months, but at the end of it, the entire cone underneath the machine feels like Old Earth.

There is an obligatory celebration where Lois dances with Swanwick and the soldiers throw Yin into the air three times, followed by Bomani and Olafsson, whereupon everyone decides that throwing people in the air would be much less exhausting if there was less gravity and more oxygen.

Swanwick announces that this will turn into a joint project with NASA and that until their experts arrive, everyone civillian is pretty much on leave.

The people from NASA are professional and utterly humourless. They measure Yin’s machine, weigh it with increasingly finer scales, then do the same to Zod. They then lock themselves into a room and only come out two days later. They hold a brief meeting where they say that they will construct a means to get the machine into orbit, but that they can’t guarantee it can be brought back to Earth.

Yin conducts experiments in private with Zod to make the World Machine function even in his absence. When that fails, she tries to configure the two parts of the machine to communicate over a distance, however, it soon becomes apparent that it is too risky to attempt this with the time lag inherent in signalling to a geostationary orbit.

Yin then calls on astronomers and engineers to devise a system where the signal would be transmitted to low or middle Earth orbit, but every single one of them tells her that coverage is sketchy in best cases and nonexistent in most places above Earth, what with most of the satelites crashing into the ocean after the increase in gravity.

Zod doesn’t tell her he never expected to stay on Earth. He leaves Yin to realize it for herself, thinking that she ought to be able to say she had tried everything.

After all, for a sin like his, the only penance can be found in death.

One day, Swanwick requests the pleasure of Zod’s company in his office. There is a discussion and Zod leaves the office half an hour later, pensive but unpertrubed.

That night he _dreams of his mother’s hands, kneading the dough for his cake. She tears off six handfuls and flattens them against the counter with her palms. The rest she covers and places in the pantry._

_She ruffles Zod’s hair and pinches his cheek and says: »My brave warrior, are you hungry enough to eat all of this?«_

_Zod nods and says: »I am, maman. I am as hungry as a wild beast.«_

_His mother laughs as she assembles the cake and puts it into the oven. »Well, my wild beast,« she says, »I shall feed you then. My darling, darling beast.« And she kisses Zod’s right temple, which begins to bleed._

He wakes up and offers a prayer to the gods. He thanks them for the gift of seeing his mother again, even if only in his dreams.

 

 

Zod decides to take a week’s holiday. Swanwick clears his outing immediately, much to Zod’s surprise.

Zod says: »What if I escape?«

Swanwick says: »Let’s be honest now. If you wanted to escape, you’d be already gone.«

He is even more surprised when after asking Lois to accompany him, which he fully expects her to decline, she instead says: »Well, it can’t hurt me, I suppose. Hurt me more, anyway. And if anything goes south, having you somewhere close tends to increase my chances of survival, if I remember correctly.«

So they set off, early next morning. Lois drives them to the nearest forest, where they set off. Zod offers to carry all the equipment, but Lois insists on carrying twenty pounds in her backpack, saying she is not a dead weight.

They walk until late afternoon, Zod mindful of not walking faster than Lois’ physique can handle. At about half past four, they make camp when they reach a small stream. Lois makes the fire and Zod prepares the food. Lois says: »It is getting quite cold.«

Zod says: »I will gather more firewood in a moment.«

Lois rolls her eyes and says: »I’m fine, Zod. I was just making conversation.«

»Oh.« Zod blinks. »I have never been good at what humans call small talk.«

Lois smiles and winces as one of the muscles on the left side of her face briefly spasms. »I am just thinking how long we have already been here. And as always, when I look back, I find it difficult to reconcile who I was a few years ago with who I am now.«

»Time is a river, and we are but pebbles on the vast riverbed,« Zod says.

Lois smiles and says nothing. They eat in companionable silence and after they are done, Lois spreads her sleeping bag by the fire, climbs into it and says: »Do you know a good horror story?« The last rays of the setting sun caress her scarred, wrinkled face as she yawns.

Zod says: »I do not understand.«

»It is a custom to tell frightening stories when one is out camping,« Lois says. »Doing so in the darkness makes it doubly frightening.«

»I see,« says Zod. »When I honed my survival skulls in the Guild, I always did so alone. Making any kind of noise would only have drawn attention to myself.«

»Oh,« says Lois. »Did you mind having to spend so much time on your own?«

Zod begins unpacking the tent. »Not at all. I enjoyed it very much. I formed few friendships during my time with the Guild. One could say that my only true friendship was with Kal-El’s father. And that ended badly.« He stands up and begins assembling the poles. After he is done, he sits down by the fire and throws more wood on it.

»Thank you for not taking my life,« he says.

If Lois had been drinking, she would have choked on it. »I’m sorry?« is all she manages.

»That day, by the lake. Thank you for not shooting me.« He throws another twig on the fire and watches it crackle and burn with satisfaction. »If you had, I would not have had the chance to redeem myself.«

»You are in a very gloomy mood today, Zod.«

Zod looks at Lois and says, »Not at all. I am merely being contemplative. And thankful.« Instead of smiling, he presses his lips together and stares at the fire.

»Did you have any brothers or sisters?« asks Lois.

»No, I was an only child. There were several men and women with whom I have served that I have considered as siblings. Closer, perhaps. Something very profound happens when you entrust someone with your life. They may be long dead but as long as I live, they will not be forgotten.«

»That is a lovely way to think about it,« says Lois and yawns immediately afterwards. »Oh, I am so sorry,« she says, »I am not bored at all-«

Zod nods. »I know. It must have been a tiring day for you. Do you need some help getting to the tent?«

»No, thank you. I’ll wash my teeth and then I’ll go to sleep. Can I ask a favour of you?«

»Of course.«

»If there is a flap on top of the tent, could you please open it? I would quite like to look at the stars before I fall asleep.«

»Of course.«

Lois climbs out of her sleeping bag and makes for the stream, toothbrush and toothpaste in one hand and flashlight in the other. Zod knows where she is at any given moment because she makes a great deal of noise; by swearing if nothing else. He allows himself to smile, because no one can see him. Then he looks for the flap on top of the tent and doesn’t find one.

Lois returns soon afterwards and starts pulling the sleeping bag towards the tent, but stops when Zod says: »There is no flap at the top, I’m afraid.«

»Oh,« is all Lois says before she drops the bag next to Zod and climbs back into it. »Wake me up when you move to the tent, will you?«

Zod smiles. »Of course.«

Lois makes herself comfortable and says: »We had to learn the names of the constellations in school. I’ve forgotten them all now, can’t remember a single one. Did you name the constellations in your sky?«

»Not as far as I know. Our son was called Rao, but the stars were named only by astronomers, who gave them rather unimaginative names. If anything in our night sky had once held a glorious, meaningful name, it has long since been forgotten.«

They do not speak for a while. Zod tries to commit as much of the night sky to memory as he can. He inhales deeply, savouring the fresh sharp smell of approaching winter. He runs his hands along the grass and buries the tips of his fingers into the dirt.

Zod says: »Were your constellations named after heroes?« When Lois doesn’t answer, he turns on the flashlight, carries her into the tent and slowly, carefully lays her on one side. He then stamps out the remains of the fire, crawls into his own sleeping bag and falls asleep moments later.

_Then he is in Yin’s lab, lying on a table. Yin is running a hungry hand along his arm and digs her fingertips into his shoulder._

_»Will it hurt?« asks Zod._

_»No, « says Yin, who had turned into Hicks, the piece of metal that had killed her still stuck in her left eye socket and peeking out of her skull, and tears off a chunk of muscle and skin, which she flattens on the counter. »Thank you, my darling, darling beast,« and ruffles his hair with his mother’s hands, »we shall not go hungry now.« Then she rips off the front of his right thigh and his throat and Zod can no longer breathe._

_Then his mother turns to him and says, »My darling, are you certain?«_

_»Yes,« says Zod, bleeding and choking. »It is something that must be done.«_

_»Yes,« says Yin, »yes, it is.« She kisses him on his temple, where he has once bled. With his last breath, he_ _calls for his mother_ and wakes.

 

»You know, there was enough space in the tent. You didn’t have to sleep outside.«

Zod opens his eyes and sees Lois sitting three feet away from him, eating. He says, »Good morning.«

Lois smiles and says, »Good morning. Did you sleep well?«

Zod sits up and stretches. »Well enough. You?«

»Like a baby,« says Lois. »Catch.« She throws him a sandwich which he catches with ease. Lois catches a glimpse of his lower stomach, which is full of bruises after the injections.

They eat in silence. Lois says: »There is a warren of rabbits not far enough from here. If you like, I can show it to you.«

Zod thinks for two moments, then decides to do it like he has always done it: swiftly and painlessly. »I will be launched into space along with the World Engine because it cannot work properly without my presence. NASA cannot guarantee my return.« He looks at Lois to gauge her reaction.

She doesn’t say anthing for a while. Then as if nothing extraordinary had been said, she says: »Do you know what I would like to do?«

»What?«

»Look at that warren of rabbits and then go have an adventure.«

Zod nods. »That is a very good plan.«

They marvel at the warren of rabbits, then pack their belongings and set off.

On day three, they stop in a small town to buy food. The shopkeeper is happy to serve them anything they want and the two youths who were in the shop when they arrived don’t mind being served after them. Until Zod sees a suspicious bulges under their belts and the shopkeeper’s sweat.

One youth ends up with a head wound and concussion, another is dragged off to the town doctor by his broken arm, howling all the way.

»That was very impressive,« says Lois as they partake of a free lunch, paid for by the grateful shopkeeper and his family.

»Not really,« says Zod. »Their only advantage were their firearms, and they couldn’t reach them in time. They had no skills in hand-to-hand combat, especially not against someone with my level of experience.« Zod eats another bite of chocolate pie he had ordered for lunch.

»And strength. And speed.«

»That too.«

They do not speak for a while. Then, when their dishes had already been cleared, Lois says: »I’ve been thinking.«

Zod politely waits for her to finish. When he sees that the rest of the sentence won’t be forthcoming, he says, »What have you been thinking about?«

»That you might be Earth’s last superhero.«

Zod doesn’t comment on it. They leave the town soon afterwards and sleep in the woods. Zod climbs into his sleeping bag outside the tent and spends half the night looking at the stars.

On day four, Lois want to go scrumping. After she explains to Zod what it actually means, he is at first horrified and then intrigued. He insists on a detailed battle plan

»-it won’t be a battle, Zod, at most someone will chase us for a few hundred yards-«

»They may have guard dogs-«

»-okay, but- Is that a trebuchet?«

»Yes.«

»What on earth do you need a trebuchet for?«

»The unexpected. Speaking if which, we need another route of escape in case the first one is blocked.«

»Zod, I think we’re going to be fine.«

»Nevertheless, it would be prudent to scout the area first.«

Lois sighs. »Alright.«

As Lois predicted, nothing goes wrong. Except she trips over her shoelaces and squashes a few apples underneath her. They share their spoils in the car and Lois wears a smug smile for the rest of the day.

On day five they arrive in another small town, where they have an excellent lunch in a café whose owner still carries herself with the grace of a _maîtresse d’_. They go to see a horror movie where Zod tastes popcorn for the first time. He declares himself unimpressed.

On day six, Zod chooses a suitably steep hill and runs to the top while Lois is comfortably seated on a swing and reading a book. On the way back, he jumps into a pond and floats on the surface, looking up at the sky. He witnesses the birth of a cloud whose form reminds him of Akasi’s snout.

On day seven, Lois wordlessly steers the car back to the base.

They proceed as normal, Zod partaking in tests with Yin and the NASA and Lois keeping record. The people from NASA are not as reticent in performing alterations on his body. If he gives his consent (which he always does), the procedure takes place on the same day.

They attach a device at the back of his head directly to his cerebellum and brainstem and connect it to the machine. The speed of the process improves threefold.

They drill holes in his head and attach the electrodes directly to his brain. The process improves again.

They put probes into his lungs and stab needles into his chest to assess how his breathing changes.

One day in the mess, Lois looks at him and says: »I wouldn’t have recognized you on the street.«

Zod says: »Yes.« He does not tell her that he had the mirror in his room removed.

One day, when the construction of the counterpart machine on the other side of the world is finished, they all pack their bags, board a military plane and fly to Florida.

 

 

Zod wakes and stays in bed for another few precious moments until his thoughts crystallize. Then he stands, washes himself, puts on his old armour and walks out the door. A military guard accompanies him, though he knows the way well enough.

Swanwick is waiting for him at the platform. He says nothing, only nods. No more needs to be said, between soldiers. _He remembers Faora, and Tor_ _-_ _An, and the myriad faces he had commanded and sent to their deaths._

Yin is there too. She whispers her excuses that she could not find a way to save him, but he brushes them away, _thinking of Jor-El and the goodness and the pride he carried in his heart until the very end_ , saying that she has done wonders with very little at her disposal.

Lois is the last. There are no tears and no kisses for a man who nearly killed a world, but there is a firm shake of the hand and Lois’ steady gaze as she says: »Godspeed _._ «

Zod smiles brightly, for the first time ever since _he was a boy, watching his mother bake in the kitchen_ , grasps her hand between his own and says: »Thank you, Lois.« Then he speaks in his mother’s tongue, for such words were not spoken to strangers: » _You will make my strength your own, for all that I have, I bequeath to you._ « Before Lois can say anything, he turns and continues on his way.

 

He is strapped into the machine, the electrodes attached and the connections tested one last time. Then he is strapped to the chair and he wills his helmet to close around him. Some time later, the rumble of the powerful engines underneath him grows steadily stronger, until a giant invisible hand pushes him into the groove. The azure gives way to deep blue which gives way to midnight black and he can see the tiny pinpricks of light in the darkness, so small and insignificant from where he is.

There had been no night sky on Krypton. There had been too much light everywhere.

Yin’s voice keeps him company, tells him what is happening, each time the craft shudders or groans. The stages dropping off. Course correction.

»Okay, General, this is it.«

Zod unstraps himself, sheds his helmet and armour until he is wearing only his skinsuit. He makes his way to the machine.

He attaches the electrodes to his body and climbs into the machine, which closes around him. For a moment he feels trapped and fights against the urge to claw his way out of the cage. The moment passes, as they always do.

He switches the machine on. There are the requisite sounds and he waits.

»Very good, General. We are getting telemetry.«

»Should I proceed?« asks Zod.

»Give us just a few minutes, General, to run the final tests. Standby.«

So he does. Some time later, he hears Yin’s voice again.

»You may proceed, General. Whenever you are ready.«

Zod is tempted to postpone the moment of action, but he brushes the temptation aside like an old, but ultimately powerless, enemy. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He is hovering above the snow.

Some time later, he hears Lois’ voice.

»Zod, can you hear me?«

»Yes, Lois, I can hear you.«

»It’s working. We’re already feeling the effects. It’s getting easier to breathe and I feel a bit lighter. Keep it up.«

»Yes.«

Time passes and he hovers above the snow. Hours or perhaps days later, Yin tells him to stop. Gravity is what it was before, the air has become breathable. Old Earth has risen from the dead.

He closes his eyes and feels relief. It is done. Whatever may come now, he has, at least in part, atoned for his sins. His craft has already begun drifting away. He asks them to play some Kryptonian music. They do.

It is getting harder to breathe in the small, cramped cabin. Zod starts hallucinating.

_Faora stands before him, in all her glory as a soldier of Krypton, even though she has his mother’s hands, which peel away his ribs and he struggles to breathe._

_Faora hands Zod’s flesh to Jor-El, who squeezes it between his palms until there is blood running between his fingers._

_His mother ruffles his hair and peels his scalp away and she kisses his skull where he once bled._

_Lois buries her long claws in his thigh and rips the musles away from the bone. After she is done, she runs her hands along Zod’s side and tickles him mercilessly. She says: »All you have you bequeath to us so that we may make your strength our own.«_

_Zod says: »Yes.«_

_Jor-El turns to him and says: »This is your penance.«_

_Zod says: »Yes.«_

_Jor-El grasps his hand and squeezes it as Faora and his mother methodically strip his legs of all flesh. He says: »And you do your penance gladly.«_

_Zod says: »Yes.«_

_Lois takes his other hand and pulls it to her chest. She says: »This is not an end.«_

_Zod says: »No. It is a beginning.« He wheezes and coughs and feels like he is drowning._

_He hears her voice in his ear, far away and crackling and_ knows it is real: »Zod?«

»Yes, Lois?«

»I wish I knew you better,« Lois whispers and her voice is harsh, like she is trying to hold back tears.

And Zod takes flight, lest his heart tear itself apart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to the lovely mercscilla for betaing this fic.
> 
> Any inconsistencies in storytelling and the sciency bits are my own and I would appreciate corrections.


End file.
